


Shadows On The Floor

by MemesDreamsAndBeans



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Deputy Nicole Haught, F/F, Graphic Description of Corpses, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Researcher and Professor Waverly Earp, Slow Burn, This is not going to be light, Wayhaught endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemesDreamsAndBeans/pseuds/MemesDreamsAndBeans
Summary: “You’re bleeding,” Wynonna says as she pulls her hand away, hot, dark blood slicked onto her palm. There’s another stain on her shirt, crimson blood spreading slowly into the fabric of her shoulder. The shirt is messily torn open, giving Wynonna a glance at the deep wound on her sister’s shoulder.ORThe world has gone to hell and the dead are rising. The Earp sisters and their newfound acquaintance Deputy Nicole Haught fight to survive this apocalypse together.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Willa Earp & Wynonna Earp, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught
Comments: 114
Kudos: 224





	1. So You Wanna Die Young?

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work will have a lot of troubling themes, including character death, graphic depictions of violence and corpses, and mental health struggles. Please don't read if these themes will harm you.

"Wynonna? Wynonna, there's something wrong," Willa Earp calls. She pushes the thin door to the Homestead open, stumbling over the wooden threshold. It’s blissfully cool inside the house. The sweat coating her forehead becomes freezing, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.

Her stumble sends her into the wall, her shoulder smacking into the wood with a dull thud. Willa stands there with her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels like it's on fire. Every muscle aches, down deep into her bones. Despite the chill in the air, the cold sweat trickling down her forehead, she feels unbearably hot.

She hears the telltale sound of Wynonna's heavy boots thudding down the stairs. "Will? What'd you say?" The voice floats down the stairs and Willa forces her eyes open. Her vision is blurry and clouded and the film over her eyes doesn't go away no matter how insistently she blinks.

Wynonna rounds the corner, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of her sister. All Wynonna can think about is the time when they were little, when Willa got pneumonia so bad that everyone thought she was going to cough herself to death.

Daddy had still refused to take her to the hospital, Wynonna remembers. He insisted that she would be fine, she would tough it out and come out stronger for it. Their mama had finally snuck her out one day, getting her the antibiotics that saved her life. That's the day that Willa decided that she loves hospitals.

She’s so pale. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles that are so severe that it looks like she was slammed into a wall face first. The grey material of her scrub top is drenched, clinging to her chest. She looked just fine when she left this morning, Wynonna thinks, her mind flashing back to Willa’s bright smile as she walked out of the door with a bagel in her hand.

“Wynonna,” she whispers, her voice cracking and hoarse. She doesn’t think that she’s ever been this thirsty in her entire life. Her knees buckle, the weight of her body becoming too much to handle. Wynonna startles forward, placing one strong hand on Willa’s shoulder to steady her.

“You’re bleeding,” Wynonna says as she pulls her hand away, hot, dark blood slicked onto her palm. There’s another stain on her shirt, crimson blood spreading slowly into the fabric of her shoulder. The shirt is messily torn open, giving Wynonna a glance at the deep wound on her sister’s shoulder.

"Something wrong at the hospital," Willa says, leaning heavily into her sister. Her breath is labored and shuddering. "Guy came in, traveling down from Calgary... Some freak bit him at the gas station a few miles out and he started running a 39 degree fever by the time he hit Purgatory." By the end of her sentence, Willa is wheezing with the lack of oxygen reaching her lungs.

"He flatlined... but then he went wild. Woke up, snarling, scratching. I tried to tie him down and he bit me." Wynonna slowly lowers her sister to the ground before taking a hesitant step back.

“Like, he reanimated? And then took a chunk out of your arm?” Wynonna asks, a hand subconsciously creeping towards the revolver that is ever present on her hip. Willa nods, her eyes falling shut again. She can’t stand the film over her vision, the aching throb deep in her muscles.

“Why did you come home?” Wynonna whispers, her mind racing with the possibilities of what this means. If that guy was bitten, then he bit Willa... could the same thing happen to her? Couldn't the hospital do anything?

“They.. they made me leave.” Willa’s skin is slowly turning from bone pale to an unnaturally ashen grey. Her eyes flit around the room, unfocused and bloodshot. “You need... you need to go find Waverly.”

That horrifying reality dawns on Wynonna. That man came down from Calgary. Waverly had been living in Calgary for something like fifteen years, and she's spent the last five settling into her position as a lead researcher for the University.

Out of the three girls, Waverly had always been the bookish one. Willa wasn't bad at school. She was good enough to pass nursing school, of course. She went through the motions, doing what she needed to do and nothing more. Wynonna was never big on school. She was far too impatient, lost in her own thoughts. She's intelligent as hell, though. On her own, she was perfectly able to learn whatever she set her mind on. It was just having to learn at other people's paces that fucked her up.

Waverly, though, thrived in school. She walked the line between popular and nerdy, blending in with every clique flawlessly. She was as involved as humanly possible. She was gone all day, getting up with the sun and falling into bed well past dark.

Wynonna and Willa were sure to go to every event of hers that they could make it to. Willa was taking the nursing course at the local community college, which was just about the only thing they still offered. In a town full of rednecks and dumb teenagers, there was always a need for nurses. Wynonna was still hanging around home, drifting between bartending at Shorty's and harassing Sheriff Nedley to let her solve mysteries.

Nedley always retorted with a "Goddamnit Wynonna, I can't just let you 'solve mysteries.' You gotta go to the academy." Eventually, she became so tired of that answer that she just started telling people in Shorty's that if they had crimes that needed solving she could do it.

And, somehow... that worked. People really did start coming to Wynonna, talking to her about their cheating husbands and asshole neighbors. Wynonna was a little disappointed that it wasn't, like, real crime solving, but she still got paid to threaten dickheads with her gun.

Ward was... never very present. The two older girls could remember smiles and laughter from Ward when they were little, but those were few and far between after Mama left and he lost his job. There were just a few too many incidents where Nedley caught him drunk on the job. Waverly was still tiny, having just turned four. She was still too little to understand what was really going on.

So, Willa and Wynonna had to fill in. Their aunt and uncle helped out, of course, ferrying the girls to everything they could possibly dream of. On the rare occasion that Ward was cognizant, he wasn't too bad. He was distant and withdrawn but he tried his best to be involved in the girl's lives.

He tried his best, there was little denying that. Mostly with Waverly, who was everyone's angel. Willa spent a few jealous years refusing to say a single civil word to Waverly. She hated how much attention she got when she and Wynonna had spent years being ignored.

She realized, after a stern talking to- and a punch in the nose- from Wynonna, that she was acting like a spoiled child. So, she pushed Ward to sober the fuck up and take care of his child.

He dressed up to escort Waverly to dances and took pictures with her. Ward always bought her shimmery, flowing dresses. She looked ethereal in them, everyone agreed. He went to the Purg High games to watch his daughter dancing on the sidelines, her hair flying as her small frame was tossed into the air. He cheered her on when she received her acceptance letter to the University, and again for every one of her degrees, and again when she was offered a research position.

"You need to find her," Willa says, the rasp startling Wynonna out of her thoughts. "Find Aunt Gus and Daddy. Please, Wynonna, you need to keep them safe. From... whatever is happening."

"I can't leave you!" Wynonna says. Her voice is urgent, bordering on shrill. "We can find some medicine or some shit, right? Maybe they already have something figured out, like... like maybe it was just a freak thing, yeah?"

Willa snorts, a phlegmy and unpleasant sound. “You need to go. Now. Before whatever happened to that poor asshole happens to me.” Wynonna shakes her head. She’s the perfect picture of a human tornado as she whirls into the kitchen, switching their small radio on.

There’s a crackle before the insistent tone of an emergency broadcast sounds out. The sound drills into her brain, three low drones before a man's voice sounds out. "Those in Calgary and all surrounding counties, please be advised. This is not a drill. We are facing an outbreak of an unknown, deadly disease. Stay indoors until you are notified with further evacuation orders. If you must leave, do not interact with any individual that you see, especially if their behavior is erratic and unusual.”

His voice continues to drone on, the three emergency tones sounding again before the message repeats. She flips through the stations, finding nothing but the same message over and over again. Well, fuck.

Wynonna turns back to the doorway, starting towards her sister. She stops in her tracks, her eyebrows knitting together. Willa is back on her feet, her back facing her sister. Her arms hang limply at her side, her posture slumped and so unlike her.

Their mother, before she left, had made sure that her children were well-behaved and polite. She refused to tolerate the roughhousing that Ward encouraged. He always said that they were Earps, that Wyatt would want these girls to grow up with the backbone and strength to do whatever the hell they put their minds to.

"They can be polite and do whatever the hell they want at the same time, Ward," Michelle would always say, her tone sharp and pointed. He would sulk as Michelle taught them to set the table, fold laundry just so. One of her most insistent rules was that their posture always had to be perfect.

"No one respects a woman who slouches," she said like a broken record. She would press on their stomachs, making them straighten their backs until she was satisfied. Wynonna hated it, slinking around with her shoulders slumped towards the ground just to piss Michelle off. Willa, though, took it to heart. She never slouched, never let anyone see her with anything other than perfect posture.

"Hey, Will... We gotta go now," Wynonna says, hesitating for just a moment before stepping forward. Willa makes an odd noise, a gurgling exhalation. She turns around, and Wynonna's heart drops. She steps back, her heel hitting the edge of the counter. She stumbles, smacking her hand onto the counter to steady herself.

Willa's mouth is open, jaw slack. Her hazel eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are cloudy and distant. She takes a stumbling step towards her sister. Another disturbing moan leaves her mouth.

"Willa, hey. Listen... Listen to me. We're gonna take you to the hospital and get help. And then we're going after Waverly." Something seems to snap in her sister then, some sort of sick recognition of a vital goal.

Willa stumbles forward on unsteady feet. Her hands reach out as if they're claws, scratching wildly at the air. Her face contorts into a snarl. Willa's teeth, perfect save for the chip on her lower left canine, glint in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains.

"Willa!" Wynonna continues to back up, holding her left hand up as her right hand flies to the handle of her revolver. She unsnaps the holster strap as her boots knock against the far wall. Fuck. There's nowhere else for me to go.

Willa is inches away, her hands scrabbling for purchase on Wynonna's leather jacket. Wynonna shoves her away, causing another pissed off growl from her sister. Wynonna draws her revolver, pointing it at her sister with a shaking hand.

"Willa, what the fuck? Chill... chill the fuck out!" Wynonna's mind is racing, trying to figure out if she could restrain her sister or knock her out or something. She needs to go to the fucking hospital. Those bastards never should have made her leave.

Willa doesn't respond. She just pushes on, relentlessly grabbing at the air in front of her. She approaches again, unfazed by the cold metal of the revolver pressing into her chest. Her hands grasp at the loose strands of Wynonna's hair, trying to yank her head closer.

On impulse, Wynonna pulls the trigger. The gun bucks, an almost electric jolt running up Wynonna's arm. There's a sickening squelch as a hole is ripped through Willa's chest, directly over her sternum. The shot is deafening in the close quarters and Wynonna's ears ring, turning everything into a tinny imitation of regular noise.

Willa doesn't react. Her fingers tangle in Wynonna's dark locks and she pulls, dragging Wynonna's cheek closer to her gnashing teeth.

Wynonna pulls the trigger again. And again. And again until the trigger clicks, empty. And even though Willa has a hole the size of a fucking softball in the middle of her chest, she just keeps yanking and snarling.

She drops the revolver, the clatter of metal on the floor breaking through the ringing in her ears. Willa's snarl intensifies at the noise. It seems to aggravate her, make her angry.

Hair pulling has always been Willa's go to tactic when they get into scuffles. Wynonna has never had her hair short, always offering the perfect target for a painful yank. Wynonna grabs her sister, one hand on the middle of her forearm and the other right above her wrist.

Wynonna forces Willa's wrist down, eliciting a sickening snap as the bones in her wrist crack. Her hand falls limp and Wynonna is easily able to tear it away from her hair. She can feel spit dotting her face, the snarls and gnashing teeth sending foul saliva flying.

With the treat of one grasping hand gone, Wynonna gropes behind her back towards where she knows the butcher block is. Her shoulder twists uncomfortably, straining to find something. She uses her other hand to keep her sister- maybe?- away.

Finally, Wynonna's hand connects with the solid wood of one of their knives. She shoves Willa back as she pulls up on the knife, the scrape of metal against wood making her shudder.

The shove was just another momentary setback for Willa. She returns in full force, still with the same furiously hungry expression plastered on her face. Wynonna slashes with the knife, slicing a nasty cut into her sister's face. Blood, so dark that it's almost black, spills from the wound and down her cheek.

Still, though, whatever used to be her sister doesn't seem to care. "Please, Willa!" Wynonna says, her voice shrill and full of terror. She lashes out again, with tears stinging her eyes. She catches Willa's lip, splitting that as well.

Blood drips onto Wynonna's hand, staining her skin with the atrocity of what she's doing. As Willa's teeth snap closer and closer to her cheek, Wynonna raises the knife high over her head. She drives the blade deep into her older sister's eye socket.

Willa slumps, her snapping jaw slowing and finally falling still as the fight leaves her body. Wynonna pushes her to the floor as her tears break loose, spilling down her face in hot streaks.

The knife clatters to the floor, clanking against the previously dropped revolver. Wynonna's hands quake uncontrollably as she falls to her knees in front of her sister's body.

Willa is collapsed in a pile, a pool of blood collecting under her lifeless body. Gulping sobs escape Wynonna and her throat restricts as she tries to bring in air. Her hands frantically search her sister's body, pushing her over onto her back.

Her skin seems loose, like it's already rotting off of her skull. Wynonna isn't the medical professional in the family, but she knows enough about death to be aware that this is fucked up. It's almost as if her decay is being sped up, skipping right past all the rigor mortis shit and going straight to the rotting.

Willa's eyes are still open, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Wynonna can't see any sign of her sister. It's like some sort of thing is wearing her skin. Some sort of monster that tried to chew her up. Some sort of monster that didn't react at all to four rounds being shot directly into its chest.

Wynonna leans over her sister's body, sobbing until her throat is raw and she doesn't have any tears left to shed. By then, the ringing in her ears has stopped and the continued drone of the emergency broadcasts.

The message has changed, though. "All residents of the province of Alberta, be advised. All active military bases are open as refugee bases. You will not be admitted if you are showing any signs of infection. Your temperature will be checked and you will be placed into quarantine upon arrival." The message repeats, drilling itself into Wynonna's mind.

Wynonna stands on shaking legs. She leans against the counter for support as she catches her breath and wipes the tears away from her face. Her skin feels raw.

Wynonna snatches her gun off of the floor, sliding it back into her holster. She throws Willa one last look before stepping over her body. One of her boots gets caught in the pool of blood and she tracks bloody footprints through the house. Fuck it. There's nothing here for her anymore. Just a rotting monster in her kitchen.

She slams the door open, causing a loud bang as it hits against the wall. Rage bubbles up in her chest. The hospital sent her sister home instead of taking care of her and now she's fucking dead. Wynonna had to murder her own sister because of their goddamn negligence.

She won't let the same thing happen to her baby sister as well.

Wynonna gets into her truck, slamming the door as hard as she can. This small act of aggression makes her feel the tiniest bit better. The engine comes to life with a roar and Wynonna pulls out onto the gravel driveway, kicking up dust and dirt as her tires spin.

She speeds the few miles to town, pressing the pedal down as far as it can go. The old truck clunks and something deep within it begins to rattle. Wynonna ignores it, staring ahead stonily.

As she pulls into town, she doesn't see anyone. The streets are eerily silent, even for a town as small as Purgatory. The truck sputters to a stop in the middle of the street. Wynonna swivels her head around, listening closely for any sign of other life. None.

Wynonna reaches over into her passenger seat, where she keeps a box of loose bullets. She reloads her revolver before shaking the rest into her hand and shoving them into her jacket pocket. She takes a long look at the flask still sitting on the seat and shakes her head.

She grabs the cold metal and unscrews the cap, bringing it to her lips. Wynonna drains the contents of the flask. The familiar burn of whisky sliding down her throat comforts her for just a moment.

Wynonna opens her glove compartment, grabbing her daddy's old hunting knife. She sighs, running her fingers absently over the chip in the metal near the handle. She slides it into her boot.

With the flask empty and the knife in her boot, she leaves her truck. Her boots hit solid ground and she sways for just a moment before steadying herself. "Jesus," she mutters. "Get it together, Earp." She shakes her head, trying to clear the cloud of emotion that's making her so unsteady.

She's parked in front of the general store, which looks deserted. The lights are still on, the one in the far corner by the dairy section flickering like it has since she was little. Wynonna approaches slowly, pushing the glass door open. She can hear that fucking emergency broadcast playing from the radio on the counter. Makes sense, then. They left for one of the bases.

The store had obviously been hit before everyone had ran. As Wynonna walked through the store, she noted just how little was left. Absolutely no booze, unsurprisingly. Even the toilet paper was completely cleared out.

Absolutely nobody left in the store. Not a note, not even a dumb teenager left to man the counter for the last few stragglers coming to buy their essentials. Wynonna hops over the counter, her boots landing with an echo in the near-silent building.

She's watched Mrs. Green pull her own revolver on enough stupid shoplifters and drunk assholes to know that she must have some extra ammo back there. She crouches, pushing aside the boxes of plastic bags and the disturbing amount of plastic bottles full of tobacco spit.

Wynonna smiles when her hand hits a box of bullets. It jangles, indicating to Wynonna that there's still something in it. She shakes the bullets out- there are only five, but it's better than nothing- and shoves them in her pocket with the rest. The revolver itself isn't there, though. Good. Hopefully Mrs. Green can protect herself.

Wynonna stands, looking up at the cigarette holder hanging down from the ceiling. She's never been a smoker, not since her daddy caught her smoking when she was fifteen and made her chain the entire pack. It was disgusting enough to turn her off of the damn things for the rest of her life.

But... if the world is going to be as fucked as it seems, tobacco will probably be worth its weight in gold. People will do damn near anything to feed their vices. There are only a few packs left. Probably the shitty stuff that no one even wanted.

Wynonna shrugs and opens the plastic door covering the rows. She takes the packs and rips the plastic off in order to empty the contents onto the counter. Wynonna nods approvingly, gathering them up into a thick bundle. She slides them into her other pocket, giving it a satisfied pat.

Wynonna steps out of the building, shooting a glance up towards the sky. She can get to Calgary with plenty of light left. After looking around, finding nothing, Wynonna pulls her phone out of her pants pocket. She doesn't have any service, no notifications. Shit.

She pats the hood of her truck as she passes, throwing it an "I'll be back, baby." Wynonna figures it won't hurt to at least stop by Shorty's, see if he's still there. If there's any other person who would do anything to save Waverly, it would be that man.

The Earp girls were practically raised in that bar. Their father would drop them in a booth while he sat at the bar and drank until he couldn't see anymore. Shorty always made sure they were taken care of. He gave them free food, free sodas, made sure that they weren't being bothered by any drunk patrons.

Shorty was kind enough to give all three girls jobs when they needed some extra cash. Willa worked there when she was making her way through nursing school, Waverly when she needed money to buy books for the endless online courses she took, and Wynonna... well, Wynonna never really left the bar. She always came back, one way or another.

Shorty's is just a few short blocks away from the general store. The walk is silent, save for the coo of pigeons crowded around a nearby trashcan. Usually there are at least a few other people on the streets, cars on the road at the very least.

But it feels like all the life has left Purgatory. Everything is so still. Almost as if the entire town, except for Wynonna, has been frozen in time. Wynonna shakes her head, coming to a standstill in front of Shorty's.

She studies the faded façade of the building, taking a deep breath. "Old man, I hope to hell you're still in there. And... still you." Wynonna pushes the doors open, the creak of the wood under her feet creating an inexplicable anxiety within her.

The bar still has tinny country music playing over the speakers. Shorty, without fail, plays his decades-old CDs every single day. Waverly had tried to get him to upgrade to something a little more sophisticated, maybe Spotify? He had always gone right back to the CDs, saying that they had never failed him before.

Shorty's, unlike every other place that Wynonna had peeked into, was not peacefully abandoned. It was exactly what she hadn't hoped for, though. There's blood on the counter, dripping down onto the floor. The soft plink of blood drops joining the pool on the hardwood cuts through the music.

No bodies, though. Blood, fucking everywhere. Another streak of blood on the taps, one of them still pulled partially down and leaking beer. Wynonna drags a fingertip across the blood on the counter, pulling a disgusted face at the fluid.

"What did I expect?" Wynonna sighs, wiping the blood off on her jeans. "Couldn't even bother to clean up after yourself? Damn customers. Okay... let's see where you got to."

Wynonna glances around the dim interior of the bar. No one milling about... It looks like there was some sort of fight, though. There are tables and chairs knocked to the ground and it looks like one of the pool cues is broken.

"Well... Hope that was a shitty one," Wynonna says under her breath. She makes her way to the back room, her steps slow and cautious. She presses her back against the wall, tilting her ear towards the door.

She hears some movement in the room. A soft clatter of metal against metal, almost like someone banged some pots together. "Shorty?" Wynonna calls, her eyes widening.

Silence. Then, a deep snarl and stumbling footsteps approaching the door. Wynonna jumps back from the wall, her revolver in her hand instantly. A tall man with half of his face chewed off crashes through the door. Chunks of skin and muscle hang off of his cheek, swinging as he charges.

Wynonna lifts her gun, scrambling backwards to avoid the man and his clouded, milky eyes. She fires one shot- hits him in the shoulder. His growl intensifies, but is cut short by Wynonna's next shot.

The top of the man's head explodes in a fine mist of blood and brain matter. He drops to the floor, his outstretched fingertips just centimeters away from Wynonna's boots.

"Aw, fuck," Wynonna sighs, kicking at the remnants of his skull. "Sorry, Shorty. Don't think this place will ever be clean again."

It dawns on her then. This man isn't Shorty- thank god. Wynonna doesn't think that she would be able to... kill another person that she loves. But if this isn't him, is he still around here?

Wynonna steps over the dead man, giving him an awkward half-wave as she does. "Sorry, man." She approaches the back room again, peeking inside. There’s another figure laying on the floor, but they don’t appear to be moving.

Wynonna steps inside, her revolver at the ready. She won't be caught off guard this time. There's another figure laying in the middle of the floor, with a giant, gory hole ripped into their stomach.  
This poor asshole must have been what the other monster was busy with. Wynonna fights the urge to gag. Great. Just what she wanted on her day off: an uprising of cannibalistic freaks.

This figure isn't moving, though. As Wynonna approaches, she notices the gun held loosely in his hand and the hole through the top of his head. Wynonna doesn't think she can really blame him.

Still not Shorty, though. This guy is tall and lanky, with greasy hair that covers half of his face. "Stupid Carl," Wynonna says with a sigh. Sure, the guy was a weirdo who hit on all of the Earp girls relentlessly, but he still didn't deserve to get munched on.

"Hope you got out of here in one piece, Shorty." Wynonna kicks at Carl's feet, shaking her head. She's about to turn around when she hears the click of a gun's hammer behind her.

"Hands up. Drop the gun. Turn around slowly." A forceful voice, but quiet and feminine. Wynonna squeezes her eyes shut, whispering a curse under her breath.

"Okay, okay. Putting the gun down." Wynonna bends forward, setting her revolver on the ground next to Carl's gnawed on leg. She turns around with her hands raised above her head, following the woman's orders.  
She's tall, with long red hair plaited in a tight French braid. Her eyes are brown, glinting like pools of amber in the overhead lighting. She's wearing a stiff, navy blue uniform shirt and pants of the same color, with a turquoise stripe running down the leg. There's a radio pinned to one of her shoulders and a nameplate above her breast pocket, but she can't read it with the light glinting off of it.

"Cop," Wynonna says, rolling her eyes. "Of course."

"Sheriff's deputy," the woman responds, her gun unwavering as it points directly at Wynonna's head. "Have you been bitten? Or scratched?"

"Do I look like I'm about to chew your fuckin' face off, cop?" Wynonna lets her hands fall, causing the deputy's eyebrows to raise. "Oh, shove it. I'm not gonna attack you or whatever."

The cop lowers her service pistol slowly, but she keeps a skeptical glare on Wynonna. Her eyes flick back and forth, taking in the woman in front of her. Wynonna pulls a face at the stupid cop-born behavior.

"What are you doing in here?" The cop asks, gesturing vaguely towards Carl's body.

"I was looking for my friend. Shorty. Not here. What are you doing in here? I don't think I've ever seen you around. I would remember."

The woman stares at her for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in obvious confusion. She sighs, shaking off the comment. "I was sent down from Calgary to evacuate the town. I was... separated from the rest of my team. Heard the shots."

"Well, copper... I'm Wynonna Earp." She snatches her gun back off of the floor, spinning it around her finger before holstering it.

"Deputy Nicole Haught. Nice to meet you, Wynonna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hoped you enjoyed this first chapter. I've been working on this for a long ass time now. (Imagine my surprise when the show just threw in a bunch of zombies lol) And I'm super excited to start bringing it to you.  
> I'm going to aim for Sunday updates for as long as I can.  
> As always, let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!!  
> 


	2. The World Looks Bleak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna and Nicole team up to go after Waverly. Plus, some realizations.

Wynonna brushes past the deputy, walking back out into the main bar. Nicole follows her with a grunt, annoyed at the lack of response from the other woman. "So, are you headed to one of the bases? You need to get somewhere safe."

Wynonna rolls her eyes as she rounds the counter, grabbing one of the bottles of whiskey underneath the counter. "Not really, no. I need to make it to Calgary so I can find my sister."

She unscrews the cap and takes a long pull of the amber liquid, letting it burn down her throat. She always was the most like her daddy, with his drinking habits and his inability to stop cracking jokes in the face of a serious situation.

The cop shoots her an incredulous look. "Have you... been able to get in contact with her at all?" She leans against the counter, taking care not to get her uniform sleeve in the blood pooled there.

"What do you think? I haven't had service since whatever the fuck this is started." She slams the bottle down on the counter, her lips pursed tightly. "I have no fucking idea what's going on with her."

"It's very possible that she's already evacuated and she's making her way to one of the bases. You should go as well." Nicole eyes the bottle of whiskey. Wynonna pushes it just a few centimeters closer to the cop.

"I know my sister better than you do, Red. Shouldn't you be out looking for your partners or whatever?" Nicole is silent for a long moment before her hand twitches towards the bottle. She wraps her hand around the glass, blinking in rapid succession.

"One of them got bit. We were... we were at the hospital, trying to get any non-infected patients out. And Lonnie got bit because he wasn't paying attention," she whispers, finally picking the whiskey bottle up and taking a long drag from it. "And I was too chicken to stick around. So I ran until I heard you shooting."

Wynonna fixes the cop with a long, unblinking gaze. Nicole avoids her eyes, staring down at the counter. Her hand is wrapped so tightly around the bottle that her knuckles are starting to turn white.

"If it makes you feel better, I just had to murder my other sister," Wynonna says, pulling the bottle away from the other woman. She drinks again, giving herself the liquid courage to face the cop after that admission.

Nicole's brown eyes are wide, fixed intently on Wynonna's face. "I'm so sorry. Was she...?"

"She worked at the hospital. They sent her home because she got bit and she was running a fever. They just... kicked her out. Instead of trying to help her."

"I don't know if there is much help. The radio chatter has been bad. The hospitals can't figure out what's going on. None of the medicine they've tried has helped. It's like as soon as you get bitten or scratched you just... shut down."

"Listen, I need to find my sister. I don't care about all the evacuation and refugee bullshit. She's my top priority."

Nicole nods, her eyes now unfocused and glassy. She stares into the distance, straight through Wynonna. "Where is she?"

"Uh, the university in Calgary. She's one of their researchers. Her name is Waverly." Wynonna shrugs, taking one last drink before screwing the cap back onto the bottle. 

Nicole pushes herself off of the counter, a spark returning to her eyes. "I'll help you get to Calgary. Help you find her. Purgatory seems like a lost cause anyway."

"Always has been. Comes with the name," Wynonna says, narrowing her eyes at the other woman. She's never been the trusting type. "What's in it for you?"

"I'm a deputy, Earp. Helping people is what's in it for me." Nicole scoffs incredulously. "No ulterior motive."

"You'll have to prove that. Let's go."

The women step out into the daylight, searing after being in the dim light of Shorty's for so long. Wynonna takes a deep breath. She didn't realize until now just how disgusting everything in there smelled.

"Listen, we need to find something light. Fuel-efficient, quiet. The gas pumps aren't working anymore and there'll be only so much fuel that we can siphon. Look for, uh... a Prius or an Accord or something," Nicole says, already pacing down the road with her service weapon drawn.

Wynonna can't fight the urge to roll her eyes, pulling a face behind the deputy's back. Waverly is sure to like this one, with the damn fuel-efficient talk. One of her biggest gripes is fossil fuels and sustainability and all that bullshit. 

She pushes away the ever-present intrusive thought that's reminding her that Waverly might not be around to like her. She grits her teeth, moving to the opposite side of the street as the other woman.

Most of the car doors are hanging open, abandoned on the streets. This being Purgatory, though, most of them are trucks or beaters that guzzle gas like it's a renewable resource. 

Wynonna looks over at the other side of the street, where the deputy is inspecting a small car. She figures that some light... searching for supplies wouldn't hurt, especially if her new cop acquaintance isn't looking.

She climbs into one of the open trucks, leaning over to open the glovebox. Ratty maps, a travel pack of tissues... and there it is, good old Purgatory. A flask and a pack of cigarettes. Wynonna shakes the flask, pleased to find some liquid sloshing inside. She flips the top of the pack of smokes open. It's half full. She shakes the cigarettes out of the pack, shoving them in her pocket with the rest. She slides the flask into her inside pocket for later.

"Hey, over here!" Wynonna hears. She slides out of the truck, her boots hitting the pavement with a muted thud. Against the silence of the town, it sounds wrong. Almost deafening. The deputy is standing next to a car about a block away, waving her hand at Wynonna.

She makes her way over, her revolver drawn. She sweeps the streets, making sure none of those things are laying in wait. The couple that she's seen have been enough for her. Nicole has her hand on the roof of the car, her lips pursed.

"This would be a good one. No keys, though," she says, gesturing inside the car. It's clean, which is odd for this shithole. Probably someone coming down from one of the bigger cities nearby. Getting stuck in Purgatory feels like some kind of sick cosmic joke. 

Wynonna sighs, rolling her eyes. She pushes the cop away, sitting in the driver's seat. "God, what do they teach you guys at that academy? Nothing useful, apparently." She mumbles the last part under her breath, staring at the steering column.

"You're lucky that this car is old enough to hotwire. And that I know how to hotwire cars," Wynonna says, pulling her car keys out of her jacket pocket. Out of habit, she keeps a mini screwdriver on her keyring for just this purpose. Old habits die hard, after all. "Hey, and this is a judgement free zone, cop."

Nicole holds her hands up in a placating gesture, watching as her reluctant companion opens the column and gets to work. She turns away, pressing the transmit button on her radio.

"Hello, hello. This is Deputy Nicole Haught with the Calgary Sheriff's Department. If anyone is out there, if anyone is hearing my voice, please respond." She repeats the message twice more until Wynonna looks up at her with a frustrated grunt.

"Give it up, Haught. No one's listening to the radio right now. Get in the damn car." She has the steering column undone, the wires stripped and ready to spark the ignition.

Nicole shoots her a glare, holstering her handgun before rounding the car and sitting in the passenger seat. Wynonna presses the stripped wires together, the car sputtering for a moment before the ignition catches.

"We better hope to god the roads aren't too packed," Wynonna says, pulling into the road. Purgatory had been all but abandoned. As soon as the emergency broadcasts started and a few of those things showed up, the smarter citizens had fled for the refugee centers. Some had decided to keep their ground. Wynonna hopes the best for them.

"We're going to find your sister. I swear to you, I will help you until we find her," Nicole says, reaching over to place a hand over Wynonna's. She jerks her hand away before Nicole can touch her.

“I don’t need your help,” Wynonna says, her tone bitter as she glares over at Nicole. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Okay,” Nicole replies quietly, knowing better than to argue. She’s mourning, terrified. She just lost a sister and she doesn’t know if the other one is safe. Nicole can’t hold the aggression against her. It’s her duty, though, to try to help at least one goddamn person.

The sound of the engine, quiet as it is, has attracted a few of the monsters. They stumble out of storefronts, their hands grasping at empty air. Their eyes are blank, yet turned towards them. A pang of terror shoots through Nicole’s chest. There’s some part of them that’s aware, something still vaguely human about them.

Wynonna presses harder on the gas pedal, the engine’s noise growing louder with it. It worries Nicole. She hopes that the things aren’t fast enough or determined enough to follow them to Calgary.

There are a few monsters loitering around the edge of town, presumably from the cars laying abandoned on the street. Wynonna weaves through them, staring ahead stonily.

A dead hand smacks onto the passenger window and Nicole jumps, trying her best to stifle a yelp. The car lurches forward as they clear the roadblock, Wynonna speeding up again. Nicole notices her jaw tighten, but she gives no other sign of fear.

There are few cars on the other side of the highway. Not many people, apparently, had decided to run from Calgary. The promise of military intervention and refugee centers had placated most. As they get closer to the city, though, the abandoned cars become harder to evade. There are cars on both sides of the road, but as they approach the city the number of cars pointed away from Calgary increase.

Why had they begun to try to get away from Calgary? A pit opens up in Nicole's stomach as she looks into the cars, noticing monsters trapped in some by their seatbelts. She’s never believed much in God, but she thinks that now might be a good time to take up prayer.

“Take this exit,” Nicole says, pointing. “There’ll probably be less cars. More people would’ve gone to the main exit. Quicker getting to the university, too.”

Wynonna takes the exit, slowing to a crawl to cut down on the noise they’re making. They creep along the road, weaving through the cars. Until they reach the main road to the university.

There, they find a tangle of cars blocking the road. It's four cars deep, and it looks like a lot of them had crashed before being abandoned. Wynonna stops the car, gaping at the sight before them.

"Damn," Nicole says, her voice quiet. She has the urge to get out and check every car for survivors, but there's no sign of life. Well, life that isn't trying to eat them.

"On foot, Haught," Wynonna says, getting out of the car. She shuts the door quietly, taking stock of how many monsters are around. She can hear the click of Haught's safety and she whirls around, grabbing her wrist tightly.

"No, no!" She says, her voice hushed but insistent. "Shooting will attract more of them and then we'll get trapped and eaten. We need to be quiet. Avoid as many as possible."

Nicole nods, holstering her weapon. Wynonna pulls her hunting knife out of her boot, brandishing it. She heads back to the driver's seat and pops the trunk. "There might be a tire iron or something. Something not a gun."

"Do you just carry that thing around with you everywhere?" Nicole asks, her voice trembling slightly. Wynonna doesn't respond. She pushes the trunk up, leaning over to search through the contents. There's a set of jumper cables, a stack of reusable bags, a bag of kitty litter. She shoves the litter aside and there she finds a tire iron.

Nicole hefts it up, giving it an experimental swing. She feels guilty about the potential of using this to hurt someone, but she tries to remind herself that these things aren't human anymore. There's something wrong with them. They're attacking. It's all self-defense.

She joins Wynonna, and the two of them creep along the street. They keep to the edge, trying to avoid the shambling monsters. One spots them and stumbles towards them, his mouth open in a nasty snarl. Wynonna holds her hand out to Nicole and she halts, crouching low to the ground.

Wynonna approaches the monster quickly and quietly, stabbing her knife through its eye. It slumps to the ground, one last gurgle escaping its mouth. Nicole has to push down the urge to vomit as she creeps up to Wynonna.

"Let's go, Haught," she says, her voice stony and unreadable. They continue down the road, dispatching another monster that strays too close. Wynonna halts in her tracks and Nicole almost runs into her.

"What?" She asks, trying to track the other woman's gaze. Wynonna points at a red Jeep stuck in the middle of the tangle. It's sandwiched between two cars, the front end crumpled inwards.

"Waverly," she whispers, her hand trembling slightly. "She drives a red Jeep, it could... That could be hers."

Nicole stares at the Jeep, at the things milling around near it. "Okay," she says, nodding at Wynonna. "Let's go check it out." She tries to put on a brave face, tries to convince herself that it'll be okay to go near so many of those things.

There are four monsters near the Jeep. Nicole raises her tire iron, slamming it into the head of the nearest monster. It falls to the ground, a garbled snarl escaping its mouth. Nicole hesitates for a moment before it reaches its hand out, trying desperately to grab at her ankle. She lifts her foot, releasing a shaky breath before bringing it down on the thing's head.

Wynonna stabs another one, grunting as she pulls the knife out of its head. She almost gags at the stench left on her hand. Nicole hits another one, the tire iron sinking through its soft, prematurely rotting head. 

The fourth monster stumbles towards Nicole, who has her back turned as she tries to wrench her weapon out of the other monster's head. Wynonna grabs the back of its shirt, pulling it away from the deputy.

She stabs at the back of its neck, severing the spinal column. It slumps in her hand and she pushes it away, letting it fall to the asphalt with a thud. Wynonna stares down at it for a split second before pushing down the guilt welling up inside of her.

She runs towards the Jeep, yanking the driver's door open. Empty. She leans in, checking the backseat. There's a car seat, a tiny stuffed lion sitting on the passenger seat. A baby bottle next to it.

Wynonna slumps down into the seat, her head in her hands. "It's not hers. Maybe she's still at the university, right?"

"Yeah, of course. We just have to keep going, okay?" Nicole says, holding her hand out for the other woman. Wynonna brushes the hand off, standing up on her own.

"Come on, then. No use wasting time." Wynonna continues down the street, her jaw clenched tightly. The university is just under a mile away, but it's slow going with the abandoned cars and the monsters that they have to dodge. They put a few more down, the ones that notice them and come shambling over.

Nicole wishes that they could stop, pay respects to those who've passed. They have to find Waverly, though, and anyone else at the university who might still be alive. If they stay here, they'll get caught. They'll get bitten.

They reach the university, with its neatly manicured green lawn and its towering trees. Wynonna has only been here a few times. She helped Waverly move in all those years ago, visited her on some weekends when she got homesick and unsure about whether she should stay or not. 

"What building is she in?" Nicole asks, shielding her eyes against the high sun. She's somewhat familiar with the campus, having spent a semester there before dropping out to go to the academy. It was a long time ago, but she still remembers it all.

"Phillips Building," Wynonna says, pointing out a brick building with tall, stately turrets reaching high into the air. "The research center."

They walk up the hill towards the indicated building, managing to avoid the monsters, which are mostly milling around the middle of campus. They look so young. Far too young to be dead. 

Nicole pushes the heavy wooden door open with one hand, the other brandishing the tire iron. Wynonna is close behind her, her hunting knife at the ready.

Nicole steps inside, gently rapping the tire iron against the tile flooring. It sends a clear, echoing ring through the halls.

"What are you doing?" Wynonna hisses, the fury and fear apparent in her eyes and the tremble in her voice. "You're gonna attract them! I thought we talked about this."

"That's what I want. If we just go running through here, we'll get caught off guard. They might get us, infect us. We need to draw them out." Wynonna stays silent, shrugging. She does have to admit that it's a good idea. As if on cue, a monster turns the corner. She looks young, probably a freshman student. She still has her backpack on, a water bottle dangling loosely from her hand.

The odd humanity of that stops Nicole in her tracks. She stares at the girl, trying to reconcile her remaining humanity with her blank, cloudy eyes and sagging skin.

"Haught..." Wynonna says, a warning tone in her voice. Nicole shakes her head, stepping back behind the other woman.

"I can't. I just can't." She turns away, her breathing ragged and shaky. She faces the wall, listening to Wynonna's footsteps and the sickening squelch of her knife cutting through flesh. 

Nicole leans down, the acrid taste of bile rising in her throat. She coughs, the stomach acid burning her throat. Wynonna looks on in something approaching sympathy as Nicole vomits, coughing and sputtering.

"Okay, Haught, that's enough of that," Wynonna says, approaching and clapping her on the back. Nicole straightens, her face pale and covered with a thin sheen of sweat. She wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket, and Wynonna can hear the shudder in her breath.

Wynonna has taken the girl's backpack, the books and papers scattered on the ground next to the body. She has it slung over her shoulder, earning a pitiful look from Nicole.

"What? We'll need to carry shit," she says, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. Nicole sighs, wiping her watering eyes. She walks over to the corpse, kneeling in front of it. She pats the girl's pockets, finding her phone in one. She has her license, student ID, and various cards in the wallet on the back.

Nicole pulls out the license, staring at it with tears stinging her eyes. She's barely nineteen. Her life hasn't even started yet, and it's already over. Ended in the hallway of a school, probably alone and terrified without anyone to provide any comfort.

"Hey, I... I'm sorry. I know this is hard," Wynonna says, crouching next to Nicole. "They're not human anymore. We have to find the humans."

"I know," Nicole says, pushing herself to her feet. She slides the girl's license into her breast pocket, wiping her mouth again. "Let's go."

Wynonna takes the lead. They walk down the long hallway cautiously, jumping at the slightest sound. Unfortunately, there are plenty of slight sounds. The Phillips Building is one of the oldest buildings on campus, which Waverly had described in length on her first phone call back to Wynonna after she moved.

"Her office is right down here," Wynonna says, pointing down a short side hall. They walk down it, and Wynonna gently pushes the door open. It creaks softly as it swings open. It's a rather spacious room, dominated by a large desk with papers scattered haphazardly around it.

There are bookshelves lining the walls, packed tight with thick tomes. A few are open on the floor, and Nicole can't tell if it's intentional or a sign of a struggle. The entire room, really, appears to be in a confusing state of orderly disorder.

She moves to the desk, rifling through the papers sitting on it. Most of them are in a language that Nicole doesn't even recognize, but she catches a few words on a document in Spanish. Looks like her two years of high school Spanish are good for something. 

_Y Los Muertos se levantan de la tierra..._ Of course. Nicole shakes her head, suddenly wishing she had taken French instead. 

"She's not fucking here," Wynonna says, her voice sounding more like a growl. She grabs the chair in front of Waverly's desk, throwing it to the ground with a crash. "She's not fucking here!"

"Hey, hey, maybe she's around here somewhere. Maybe she found somewhere safe to hide out until someone came, right? We can't just give up." Nicole's voice holds a tinge of desperation. She was supposed to come here with Wynonna and try to save her sister, try to save someone instead of killing them.

Wynonna glares at the deputy, her lips curled in a snarl. "She's just like the rest of them, Haught. She's out there, a fucking flesh-eating, dead monster. There's no fucking point to anything anymore, got it?"

"That's not true, Wynonna! You don't... you don't know if she's safe. She could be in one of the refugee camps, she could be hiding!" Nicole gestures wildly, her hands flung out to her sides. She doesn't want to believe that Wynonna has lost another sister. She doesn't want to believe that she was so fucking useless that she couldn't save anyone.

"This is not your goddamn place, cop. She's not your goddamn sister. She's not your responsibility and neither am I!" Wynonna's voice is raised to a shout, her eyes wild, almost crazed. "You just came on this fucking death mission to make yourself feel better about letting your partners die and fucking running away from it!" Nicole falls silent, letting those words sink in. Wynonna has stared straight into her soul, yelled the same words that have been ringing over and over in her head for hours now.

Wynonna looks pleased with herself. She crosses her arms across her chest, her glare still fixed on Nicole. They stand there in a shitty imitation of a children's staring contest, waiting for one of them to break. 

Nicole's eyes snap to the door, where she sees a shadowy figure moving. It approaches the door and Nicole acts on instinct. She jumps forward, wrapping her arms around Wynonna's waist. They both hit the floor, the air leaving their lungs as they land in a tangle of elbows and knees.

Nicole sees stars as her head strikes the hard tile of the office floor. Her vision goes black for a second and her ears ring. She can hear the door open, it bangs against the wall.

The figure appears fully to a dazed Nicole, looking down at them with a shocked expression on her face. She has a wooden club in her hands, made menacing with the long spikes dotting it. 

Nicole's mind races. Some sort of monster, still holding onto an object from their previous life. This is how her life ends, she thinks. On the dusty floor of an office in the university that she dropped out of, after failing to do the one thing that would give her some sense of purpose.

But then the figure lowers the weapon, her mouth gaping open as she takes in the scene before her.

"W- Wynonna?" She says, a look of relief spreading across her face. Wynonna pushes Nicole away, sitting up. Nicole rolls onto her back, still trying to catch her breath from the elbow she had caught directly in her gut.

The woman above her is wearing a pink skirt, falling right above her knees. She has a plain white button-up on, tucked neatly into the skirt. Her hair is loose, falling in waves around her shoulders. Nicole is relieved. Not a monster. Not yet.

"Oh my god, Wy, I kept trying to call you and Willa and Aunt Gus. I didn't know if you guys were safe or not," the woman- Waverly, Nicole presumes- falls to her knees, gathering Wynonna up in a crushing hug. Wynonna returns it, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Give me a bigger heart attack next time, okay? When you weren't here I thought one of those bastards got you." Wynonna pushes her sister back, cupping her cheeks. She takes a long look at the grinning woman before her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Also, what the fuck is that thing?"

Nicole sits up, shooting a wary glance at the spiked club. It has deep brown stains on some of the spikes, but they look anything but fresh. It looks like it could do some serious damage.

"Oh, it's an ancient Mayan war club. It was in the archive room. Figured I could use it against the dead. Oh, uh, who's your friend?" She gestures at Nicole, giving her a smile and a wave. Nicole waves back, groaning softly as she pushes herself to her feet.

Waverly is, frankly, gorgeous. She grins, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the joy of being reunited with her sister. Her long hair looks soft and silky, falling in angelic waves down her back. Nicole hopes that her rampant thoughts are just an after-effect of smacking her head.

"Deputy Nicole Haught, Calgary Sheriff's Department. I helped Wynonna get here from Purgatory," she says, holding her hand out for Waverly to shake. She does, her hand warm and her grip firm.

"Thank you, Deputy. Waverly Earp, head researcher for ancient cultures. I hope Wynonna didn't give you too much trouble." She inclines her head towards her sister, who raises one eyebrow at her baby sister.

"Only a little," Nicole says, a bright, dimpled grin spreading on her face. For just a moment, this interaction is enough to help her forget the disaster outside. Just a moment, though...

"Oh!" Waverly says, her eyes growing wide. She pulls away from Nicole, "I need to show you guys something. As soon as the emergency broadcasts started I went to search for this stuff..." She moves to her desk, dropping into her chair. 

She shuffles through the piles, selecting a few of the documents. "I've heard about things like this before. The dead rising, infecting people with bites and scratches..." She waves the other women over and they stand behind her, looking over Waverly's shoulders.

The document on top shows pictures of rough drawings on a cave wall. The first is of a large figure missing an arm chasing after a group of smaller figures. Further down the page, there's another drawing of a man putting a spear through the monster's head.

"The disease shuts all major organs down, then after a short incubation period, it restarts the brain. Not fully, of course, just the parts that control the more... animalistic parts of people. Attacking it anywhere other than the brain doesn't do anything. Those parts, essentially, aren't alive anymore. They don't feel pain, they aren't hurt. You have to destroy the brain to destroy them."

"We're very aware," Wynonna says, crossing her arms. She clenches her jaw, wishing that she could banish the memory of driving a kitchen knife into her sister's head forever. And the memory of all of the other poor fuckers that she had to put down.

Waverly looks up at her with an unreadable expression. They stare at each other for a lingering moment. Nicole looks between them, trying to figure out whatever sibling communication is going on.

"Waverly, I need to tell you... Willa, she turned. Came home from work because some whacko bit her and she started running a fever. I had to..."

Waverly nods, casting her gaze back down to her desk. The room is silent for another long moment before Waverly clears her throat. "So, outbreaks of this disease have only been recorded in small villages, isolated from everyone else. Which is good, because..." Waverly continues, her gaze so intense that Nicole is certain she's trying to burn a hole in the paper. "Everyone who is exposed to it is infected. The only way to eradicate the disease is to eradicate everyone who comes in contact with it."

"What are you saying?" Nicole asks, placing her hand on the edge of the desk. Waverly looks up at her, her mouth opened just slightly.

"It's everywhere," Wynonna says before her sister gets a chance to speak. There's a hard, bitter edge to her voice. "And we're all fucked."

"Well, not entirely. There's the Antarctic research bases, the ISS, untouched civilizations in the rainforest. The world can still build itself back up. There are plenty of untouched societies. Plus, we don't even know if it's spread to other continents! It could... it could just be us."

Nicole gets the distinct impression that Waverly is the type of person who looks for the best in everything. She isn't quite sure how to feel about that yet. On the one hand, positivity is nice. On the other hand, this is positivity at the expense of their eventual demise.

"But we- all of us in this room and every other person we will ever come in contact with- we're all fucked."

"Essentially, yes."

The three women stare at each other, the silence heavy and electric. Wynonna is, like usual, the first one to break the silence.

"So... what's next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hope you liked this chapter. The team is together again!  
> It feels weird to actually be sitting in college while writing this. I feel like the zombie girl most days. (But that might be because I stay up way, way too late, not because I've been infected with some terrifying brain parasite.)  
> I digress. Thank you for reading, let me know what you think! I'll see you all next Sunday


	3. There Are Spirits In This House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio explores the campus. Plus: a conversation between sisters and a bonding moment between strangers.

Waverly grasps for an answer. She starts and stops a sentence a few times, giving a frustrated, growling hum when she can't think of an intelligent response.

"When you say that everyone has it, what exactly do you mean? Are we all... going to turn?" Nicole asks, trying to save Waverly from her obvious embarrassment. This makes her perk up a little bit. She sits up straighter in her desk chair and begins to shuffle through her papers.

She finds one, a yellowed page with some sort of flowing script on it. "That is something that has been rather well documented. I mean, as well documented as any of this is..."Waverly stares at the page for a moment, presumably mentally translating whatever language that is. "Eventually, yes. If you die the infection will revive you. But, like I said, the brain has to be destroyed to destroy the infection. You won't turn if you destroy the head, sever the spinal cord, whatever. So, you can avoid turning that way."

"But what about the bites? The scratches?" Wynonna asks, her eyes icy blue and her gaze intense. Nicole finds herself really able to examine the woman for the first time. There's a splash of blood on her cheek, dried into a dark russet. She can see a vague similarity between the two sisters, something in the curve of their lips and the shape of their eyes.

Wynonna is a tall woman, almost as tall as her. She carries herself in a familiar way. She recognizes her stance and the way she crosses her arms in front of her. Wynonna carries herself like she's in law enforcement. Nicole thinks that she'd be the weirdest damn cop around, though.

"I think that the bites speed up the process because of the saliva going directly into your bloodstream. It must be some sort of concentrated form of the infection that sends everything into shutdown. I don't really know about the scratches..."

Waverly trails off, beginning to shuffle through her stack of documents again. She mumbles to herself in languages that neither Nicole nor Wynonna can recognize. She stands, grabbing one of the giant, leather-bound tomes off of the floor. She sets it on the desk with a muted thud.

Nicole takes a moment to look around the office while Waverly flips through the pages. Waverly's degrees hang on the wall above her head. There are a hell of a lot, Nicole notes, feeling that old, familiar shame that she associates with dropping out.

She must have triple majored. Nicole spots philosophy, ancient cultures, and anthropological linguistics. She had then gotten her master's in ancient cultures. Right in the middle Nicole spots a PhD certificate. Dr. Earp, then.

There are pictures peppered around the room as well. Most of them feature Waverly with others. She spots Wynonna in some. There's another woman too, her hair the same color as Waverly's and her smile matching Wynonna's perfectly. This must be their other sister, then.   
There's a man featured as well, his hair curly and black like Wynonna's. He has a somewhat surly look on his face, but in the pictures where he's looking at Waverly, he has a prideful grin. Their father.

She looks back to the two sisters, who are bent over the book together. Wynonna's eyebrows are pulled together, Waverly is mouthing silent words to herself. As much as Nicole doesn’t want to be alone, she isn’t sure that she fits into this picture.

“I think I should start to sweep campus. Make sure that everyone left is safe and get them on their way to one of the safe zones,” Nicole says, edging closer to the door. She had done what she came here to do. It was time for her to leave the sisters.

Both woman snap their heads up to the deputy. Waverly looks almost shocked, but Wynonna just shrugs.

"Cool. Thanks for the help, cop." She looks back down at the desk, going back to reading one of the few documents that Waverly had found in English.

Waverly, though, shakes her head, the long hair falling around her shoulders going flying. "Uh, no! It is not safe for one person to go alone. I am not letting you leave. You did not come all this way just to get eaten."

Nicole feels like there's absolutely no room for discussion, even as Wynonna rolls her eyes behind her sister's back. She picks up the chair that Wynonna had previously thrown and rights it. Nicole drops into the chair, crossing her ankles and clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Waverly, does understanding any of this do us any good? Or does it just make us know that we're all going to die horrible, painful deaths?" Wynonna sounds frustrated. Nicole can see that her fists are balled up, but she had taken care to set Waverly's research down first. Nicole thinks it's a sweet gesture from an otherwise rough person.

"The first step to solving a problem is to understand the problem, Wynonna." It sounds like this is a sentence that Waverly has said too many times to count. "It's better to know the possibilities than to go into everything completely unaware."

"I think that I would like to be unaware in this situation," Wynonna says. She steps back from the desk, rubbing her hand across her face with a sigh. Nicole thinks that this is the first time she's seen Wynonna with her guard truly let down. She looks exhausted.

Nicole is too. She hasn't realized until now, this moment of relative calm. Her legs feel heavy, weighed down by her work boots. There's a tag on the back of her uniform shirt that's scratching at her neck, threatening to drive her mad. In all of the panic and chaos, these things had been lost to Nicole.

"I don't think we should stick around here for too long," Nicole says, her voice quiet. "We need to sweep and get everyone we can off campus."

Waverly pushes her chair back from her desk. She throws a longing glance at the pile of books and papers on her desk before sighing. She picks up that club, which Nicole is still wary of. "We should check the dorms. Kids probably hid in there."

"Oh great, let's head into the deathtrap with the cop. This is going to be the time of my life," Wynonna says, picking up her hunting knife. She had put it on Waverly's desk- after, of course, wiping it off on the back of her desk chair while she wasn't looking.

Nicole stands as well. She tries to shake off Wynonna's endless comments, but she can't help but feel that she deserves a little bit of gratitude after getting her to Calgary in one piece.

"Wy, you wanted to be a cop. What's up with all of the aggression?" Waverly asks, shooting Nicole a sympathetic look. Nicole shrugs, but her jaw is tight. Waverly mouths an 'I'm sorry' at Nicole.

Wynonna grumbles for a moment, a noncommittal answer that neither of the other women can decipher. She strides towards the door, not daring to look at Nicole as she passes.

Waverly follows after her sister, grinning at Nicole as she passes. Nicole sighs, hefting up her tire iron from its place on the floor. The two sisters are standing at the door. Wynonna has it cracked just slightly, and the Earps are listening closely. 

"I think it's okay," Wynonna says her voice low. She looks back at her companions, giving them a nod before pushing the door open further. Nicole is almost surprised that this building is so empty. Hopefully most of these kids were able to get to the safe zones.

Nicole is pinning all of her hopes on the safe zones. She needs something to believe in. Something to keep her going, reassure her that there will be some semblance of normalcy soon. Before she and her team had left for Purgatory, and before the radio chatter had gone silent, she heard that the safe zones were holding strong. She can't let go of that hope.  
The women leave the office and Waverly takes the lead, whispering to the others that she knows campus best. They walk through the silent halls of the Phillips Building, pushing open doors and peeking inside for any survivors... or undead.

But they walk through most of the building without any sign of either. "When I was in the storage room grabbing some books, I don’t think anyone was in here,” Waverly says. They’re stopped at the end of a hall. The wall is painted in a vibrant mural. It depicts a nighttime view of the Calgary skyline. It’s been so many years since Nicole has seen this mural, but it's seared in her brain.

“We should go,” she says. Thinking about the university and the time she had spent there always made her incredibly anxious. Being here is practically torture.

Waverly looks back at her, fixing the officer with a curious gaze. In her time at the school, Waverly has become well accustomed to the barely-disguised panic in Nicole's voice. College isn't for everyone, and she figures that it wasn't for Nicole.

"The dorms next," Waverly says, leading them through the halls to an exit. It's not the one that they came through, and both Wynonna and Nicole are thankful for that. The prospect of seeing that poor girl again is one that neither want. Her license feels like a hundred-pound weight in Nicole's pocket. 

They push through the doors. The late afternoon sun illuminates the campus, throwing a golden red glow over the lawn. The creatures are standing listlessly, dotted across the field.  
Waverly points across the street, where a high-rise dorm sits. There are a few monsters standing in front of the doors. They won't be able to get in without them noticing. 

Waverly straightens up, hefting the club up onto her shoulder like a baseball bat. She approaches the dorm, with the other two following close behind. One of the creatures alerts to the sound of her heels, turning with a snarl. His noise alerts the others and they turn, their dead eyes focusing on their living prey.

They split- one monster for each woman. Wynonna seemingly has no problem with putting them down anymore. She cuts through the creature's eye and pushes it off quickly and quietly. Nicole raises her tire iron and brings it down with a grunt. Blood sprays out of the gash that opens on its skull. It keeps coming though, and Nicole stumbles back before swinging her weapon again.

She catches it on the same spot, deepening the gash. It takes one more vicious swing from the tire iron to sink into its brain, causing the monster to drop with a sick thud.

Waverly approaches hers, already swinging the club. She had misjudged, though, and the spikes sink into its neck and chest. She shoves backwards with the club, dislodging the spikes with the momentum as the creature falls backwards. Waverly brings the club down again and one of the spikes sinks into the monster's head.

The other two, having already dispatched their monsters, watch Waverly. Wynonna is both impressed with her baby sister and intimidated by her weapon of choice. Nicole stares at her with her mouth hanging open. 

Jesus, Nicole thinks. Glad I'm not on her bad side.

Waverly pulls her club from the head of the creature, grimacing at the blood that drips off of the spike. She looks up, grins at the others and gestures towards the door. "Shall we?"

Nicole is slightly off-put by how casually the Earps seem to be taking all of this. They're an odd bunch, but good help when it comes to killing things.

Nicole brings up the rear as the Earp sisters enter the building. Waverly has to swipe her ID for the door to unlock. At least that still works, Nicole notes with a sigh. At least nothing will wander in while they're in there.

It’s cold and dark in the building. Waverly stands from her crouch and flips the light switch next to the door. And... nothing. She flicks the switch a couple of times, but still no lights. 

"Fudge. The power is down." Waverly looks back at the other two, the whites of her eyes flashing as they catch a sliver of light from outside.

Nicole reaches for the flashlight on her utility belt. Her hand connects with the roughly textured metal of the flashlight's handle and she pulls it out of its holster. She turns it on and the light floods the hallway.

"This is peachy," Wynonna says with a shake of her head. "Boy, don't I love being in a dorm hall with nothing but a flashlight to show us the way. Oh, and all of the flesh-eating freaks that fucking exist now, I guess."

"You know, some West Africans who came in contact with the disease called them zombies. Derived from _zumbi_ , meaning fetish, and _nzambi_ , meaning a god," Waverly says in a whisper. They had started down the hall- past the front desk and the lounge area without any issue- when Waverly turns to say this.

"Oh, that's even better. Now they have a freaky-ass name to go along with their freaky-ass existence." Wynonna rolls her eyes and Waverly shakes her head.

"Just thought you might like to know," she says. Nicole can hear the angry younger-sibling tone clearly.

"Come on," Nicole says, urging the other two forward. They proceed- without an eye roll or a glare from Wynonna this time- to the first room in the hall. "Waverly, do you have any way to get in?"

"No," she says. "I think the RA's and the custodians have all-access keys, but that's it."

"Well, looks like we're knocking," Nicole says. She raps her knuckles on the door, leaning her ear towards it for a response. Silence. "Calgary sheriff's department. If anyone is in there, you can come out."

Still, silence. No growling, no zombie snarls. Nicole shakes her head at the other two. They continue down the hall, splitting up to continue knocking on the doors. Many of them are completely silent. A few of their knocks, however, are met with the low groans and growls of the zombies. 

Nicole stares at these doors balefully, mentally marking them. She hopes to God that they aren't aware, somewhere deep inside. It sounds like the worst fate possible. 

They reach the end of the hall. No humans responded, which makes the women somewhat hopeful. "Waves, what's down this way?" Wynonna asks, pointing at a set of double doors. There's a small window and she tries to peek through, but even with Nicole's light she can't make anything out.

"A common room, I think. Like a lounge. Has a TV, some computers," she says, shrugging. "Check it out?" The other women shrug and Waverly sets her hand on the handle. She pulls it down and open slowly, gesturing for Nicole to shine her light into the room.

Nicole presses her back flat against the other door and points her flashlight inside. "Open just a little wider," Nicole whispers. Waverly does so, allowing Nicole to peek her head inside.

The sight inside is gruesome. Blood coats the floor, there are splashes up onto the walls. Her eyes skim over the creatures in the room, but there are too many to count. She has to stop herself from gasping or releasing a desperate sob.

"Waverly," she begins, "you need to close this door right now." She pulls her flashlight out slowly, holding her breathe. Her jaw tightens as it scrapes against the door, creating a sharp ringing.

One of the creatures hears the scrape and turns, their jaw hanging limply open. It snarls, which alerts the others. Nicole jolts back, her breath catching in her throat. "Now, Waverly!"

Waverly slams the door as the first few reach it. Wynonna grabs her sister's hand, yanking her into a full-tilt sprint. Nicole runs just a pace behind them. The sound of the hungry undead pounding at the doors follows them.

They burst into the daylight, panting and panicked. The light burns their eyes after the blackness of the hall. Nicole urges them back to the Phillips Building. Her throat is constricting and she has to gasp for breath as they continue running.

They run until they're back in Waverly's office. Nicole puts her shoulder against one of the bookcases near the door and shoves, putting her full weight against it until it scrapes across the hardwood floor and into place in front of the door. She bends down with her hands on her knees, taking a moment to catch her breath.

When she straightens up, Wynonna has collapsed onto the couch in the corner. Waverly is pacing back and forth behind her desk, her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pursed. Her hands are curled into tight fists and she taps them against her thighs, a faltering pattern in an attempt to release some of her nervous energy.

"Did you see them? They were running, right? You saw them, Nicole." She turns to Nicole, throwing her hands out in an exasperated arc. "They were running. Nothing that I've read has mentioned anything other than shuffling and stumbling. But they were running."

"They were running," Nicole says. She lowers herself onto the floor, holding her head in her hands. Her breath has slowed enough that the sentence is intelligible. "Running," she repeats. If that door had closed just a few seconds later, they would have died. 

"We're fucked," Wynonna says from her spot across the room. "So wildly fucked. If these fuckers can run, we don't have a chance in hell."

—

The women decide to stay in the office for the night, if not longer. Nicole decided that she would take a watch shift and she pushed the bookshelf back just slightly to open the door. She stands in the hallway, jumping at the slightest noise. 

Waverly and Wynonna sit on the couch together, conversing quietly. Waverly is leaning against the arm of the couch, her knees pressed up against her chest. She rests her chin on them, looking up with big doe eyes at her sister.

"Tell me... Tell me about Willa. What happened?" She asks, her voice a whisper. Wynonna stares at her for a few long beats before her eyes fall shut. "She got bit at the hospital, Waves. They sent her home when her fever started. She didn't... last long," Wynonna says. She winces before adding, "I mean, I didn't leave her as one of those things. I... I couldn't."

“I understand,” Waverly says. She searches her sister’s face, finding anguish in her downcast eyes. “She’s in a better place now, though. You know that Willa would have hated to be like that.”

“Yeah,” Wynonna says. Her voice is quiet and distant. She stares at the floor, with her eyes glazed over and her tips pursed tightly. “Do you think that anything will go back to normal?”

Waverly isn’t sure what to say. She wants to have hope that the military has a handle on things, that the safe zones are really safe. Or that other places are untouched by this. Her research, though, does not leave her with an abundance of confidence.

The disease is nasty and unyielding. Any contact- including any airborne contact- essentially spells doom. Most of the specifics are unknown, of course, as everyone who has ever experienced the disease had died before getting to thoroughly document anything. It's times like this when Waverly wishes that more efficient methods of information recording had existed all those centuries ago.

That's another thing- as far as she can tell, no outbreaks of this sort have occurred for centuries. She has no idea why it's happening here, now. And that burning question: how. None of the artifacts and writings she has have any indication of how the disease begins its spread. Her mind can only race with bleak possibilities that she won’t voice to her sister. 

“I wish I could give you an answer. I think that we should try to get out of here as soon as we can. Nicole is right. We need to get to a safe zone,” Waverly says. Nicole had been hammering the point for hours. Her face had been pale and almost waxy, her chest rising and falling rapidly with her short gasps of breath and her repeated insistences. She seemed to be resting all of her hopes on the safe zones- just like she is.

Wynonna has to stifle an eye-roll. No matter how annoyed she is with the stick-up-her-ass cop, she is good to have around. Although, it had come as a relief when she had pushed back that bookcase to go on watch. She has a penchant for saying a hell of a lot of words without actually saying much at all. Cop behavior, through and through.

"I hope Daddy and Gus are okay," Wynonna says after a moment, her voice suddenly small and defeated. Gus had moved down south to Montana years ago, right after Curtis had passed. Ward had gone down to visit her about a month ago, planning to help her renovate her basement. 

"Are you kidding?" Waverly says, the hint of a snort coloring her voice. "Aunt Gus would decimate anyone who even tried to get close to her house." The image of their aunt brandishing a shotgun against the zombies isn't difficult to conjure.

Wynonna smiles, and the light expression lifts some of the tension off of her sister's chest. She had always looked to Wynonna when she was scared. Wynonna, who appeared so untouchable and sure of herself. Wynonna, who was always willing to defend her with the strength of an army.

"You should try to get some sleep, baby girl," Wynonna says, leaning forward to pat Waverly's knee. Waverly, though, shakes her head. She's too amped up to sleep, too wrapped up in the words of her research echoing in her mind. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna go check on Nicole," she says as she stands. She smoothes down her skirt, then tucks her shirt a little tighter. Despite everything, she still has the urge to look presentable. Waverly offers her sister a smile, intended to be cheerful and confident. To anyone else, that's exactly how it would have appeared. Wynonna knows her well enough, though, to detect the nervous twitch at the corner of her lips.

"Be careful," Wynonna says. She stretches out across the couch, toeing her boots off at the glare from Waverly. (It might be the apocalypse, yes, but shoes still don't belong on her couch.) She crosses her hands behind her head as her eyes fall shut. Waverly thinks that she looks like their father like that.

She slips through the hole in the barrier that Nicole had left and opens the door. She's followed with the sharp squeal of the hinges. The maintenance team was supposed to fix that weeks ago, Waverly notes dimly.

Nicole's head snaps up at the sound. Her hand had automatically tightened around the tire iron, but she relaxes when she recognizes the other woman.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is a low, gravelly whisper. It sounds almost like she had strained it when she had yelled earlier. Waverly leans against the wall across from her, her back hitting the brick wall with a thud. 

"Hi." A beat passes before she adds, "Thank you, Deputy. For getting Wynonna here." Wynonna, with as reckless as she is, probably wouldn't have made it without some levelheaded force keeping her in check. She's strong and clearly capable. Something about this place is obviously throwing her off, though.  
  
She shakes her head, her expression pinching together like she had just tasted something sour. "You don't have to thank me for anything. I was... I couldn't let her go by herself."

"Well, I'm glad you went with her," Waverly says. She stares at Nicole's face, although the other woman's eyes are turned down to the floor. She has strong features- sculpted eyebrows, prominent cheekbones... The soft curve of her pink lips seems to accentuate the sharp line of her jaw. Her eyelashes are long, obscuring those big brown eyes that Waverly had caught glances at. 

Nicole sighs, raising her eyes up to meet Waverly's. The hand not holding her tire iron has moved to her neck, tangling in the baby hairs growing there. "So... Dr. Earp, huh? Wynonna says that you're pretty important around here."

Waverly's face perks up into a wide grin, her eyes turning into half-moons. There's nothing- besides her family- that she's more eager to discuss than her education and research. 

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm the head of the cultural anthropology department. I do a lot of linguistics work and archival research. Lately I've been working with some local indigenous populations on the preservation of their dialects."

The corners of Nicole's lips twitch up in a half-smile. She had always been interested in the subject, even considered taking a couple of entry level courses. That had never come to pass, though.

"Uh- sorry. You probably don't care," Waverly says, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she shakes her head. A holdover from the years that Willa had spent rolling her eyes at her tangents and the series of ex-boyfriends that got fed up with her incessant studying.

Nicole's smile widens. "Oh, I care more than you could imagine. Tell me more." Nicole sinks onto the ground, her long legs stretched in front of her. Waverly follows suit, the inside edge of one of her shoes tapping against the outside of Nicole's clunky work boots.

"I don't think that's how this is going to work. You need to tell me something about yourself first." Waverly grins, forcing a groan from Nicole.

"Man, you really are a teacher, huh? 'Okay class, tell me a fun fact and one thing that you did over the summer.'" Waverly scoffs, her eyes growing wide in mock outrage. She hits Nicole’s shoe with her own again. The assault is met with a push back from Nicole and a quiet laugh.

“Okay, all of my students are adults. I don’t make them do that. I make them email me pictures of all of their pets. I see a lot of cows.” Nicole tips her head back, and a sharp peal of laughter echoes through the hall.  
"Oh yeah, that's far more grown-up."

Waverly grins and leans forward, the glint of a challenge showing in her eyes. "Come on. Tell me something and I'll tell you something."

Nicole shakes her head good-naturedly at the game. She leans her head against the wall, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Okay, okay. On the topic of pets... I have a cat named Calamity Jane."

"Calamity Jane! You know, my great great grandfather was Wyatt Earp," Waverly says. "In undergrad I did a research project about him."

"I guess that's where the trigger-happy in you guys comes from. Or, you know... club-happy, in your case." 

"Well, of course. We have to live up to his legacy!" She lays her hand on the club, an almost affectionate look on her face as she does. "Okay, your turn."

"I was born in Colorado and my parents moved us to Alberta when I was fifteen. We hopped around for a bit. I moved to Calgary when I was 18.”

“Did you go here?” Waverly asks. Nicole hesitates for a moment, wondering if she should answer. She could pull the ‘that’s not how the game works’ card, but... she sighs, then nods.

“Yeah. For a semester. Dropped out and floated around for a while before joining the academy. And I’ve been with the sheriff’s department ever since. Very, very slowly working my way up the food chain."

Waverly searches Nicole's face, trying to gage what she's feeling. Her eyes are hard, focused on the ground next to her. Her hands, still clasped in her lap, are white-knuckled and quaking.

"College is really fucking expensive," she says. "And I am... nowhere near good enough for it."

"I've had to help a lot of students in your situation." Waverly's voice is soft, hopefully free of any perceived judgement. "Sometimes it just isn't right. Not where you're supposed to be. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Wish my parents would have seen it that way," Nicole says with a scoff. Waverly stays silent, trying to remind herself that Nicole is, essentially, a stranger. This isn't really her place.

A long, heavy silence falls over them. Suddenly, the near pitch black feels oppressive to Waverly. Her eyes have adjusted enough to make out Nicole's features, but she can barely see a few feet down the hall. It makes her uneasy, and a pang of anxiety shoots through her chest.

"I think that we should go back in," she says, her hand tightening around the grip of her club. 

"I'll stay out on watch," Nicole replies. She doesn't meet Waverly's eyes. 

Waverly shakes her head, rising to her feet. "No, no... I think it's okay out here. Long as we push the bookshelf back. I just... don't feel okay about you staying out here."

Nicole decides to give in without argument. As much as she wants to feel useful, she'll trust Waverly's gut feeling. Besides, she wouldn't be opposed to a little rest. 

They squeeze through the door, shutting it behind them with a soft click. Wynonna is passed out on the couch. Her hands are balled up into fists and tucked under her chin. When Waverly looks close she can see that her eyes are puffy and there are tear tracks running down her cheeks. 

She moves to the cabinet built into the wall in the corner and pulls out a thick quilt. "Here," she says, holding it out for Nicole to take. "Try to get some rest."

Nicole takes the quilt, running her fingers over it gently. "Will you tell me about this first?"

Waverly nods. She sinks onto the floor in front of the couch, watching as Nicole settles across from her a few feet away. She stretches her legs out again, but this time her boots have been shucked off. Her socks have cartoon cat heads on them. It makes Waverly smile.

Nicole unfolds the quilt, smoothing out the creases. She covers herself, clutching the fabric tightly.

"It's a traditional Tsuut'ina quilt," Waverly says. She keeps her voice at a whisper, glancing up at her sister to make sure that her voice isn't waking her. "I've been working with them for a few years. Some of the woman taught me how to quilt. We made that together."

Nicole runs her fingers over the intricate lines of thread. "It must have taken hours.""It's easy to get into a groove. Especially when there's just so much to learn from everyone." The look of wonder in Waverly's eyes is enough to convince Nicole that she would have killed to take any of the classes that Waverly had taken. "But, uh... you can probably tell which squares are mine. I'm not the best quilter."

She grins and the moonlight filtering through her sheer curtains glints off of her teeth. Her eyes crinkle into half-moons. Nicole thinks that she looks oddly sheepish but still somehow glowing with confidence. She is the textbook definition of an enigma.

"Not at all, Waverly."

"I think that lack of sleep is making you delirious," Waverly says. "But I'll take the compliment. Goodnight, Deputy."

"Goodnight, doctor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Some of the scenes in this chapter have been my favorite to write so far. A lot of questions are raised in this chapter...  
> Some are answered, too. I've always gotten the feeling that Nicole is far more anxious than she lets on. Somehow, unhappy backstories seem to suit her.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's been either smoky and hot or dreary and rainy here for the past few days and it's starting to get on me a bit. Uploading is definitely a highlight :)  
> See you next week
> 
> (Also, my anthropology professor is kind of lame. I would give anything to be taught by Dr. Earp omg)


	4. In The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Earps and Nicole leave the University.

They all manage to get some sleep, albeit light and restless. Waverly wakes more times than she can count, her eyes wet and her breath hitching in her throat. She can't get back to sleep until her eyes adjust to the dark and she can get a look at Nicole and Wynonna.

Nicole, across from her, has the quilt balled up in her fists and a worry line furrowed between her eyebrows. She’s asleep, though, and that calms Waverly. She looks up to her sister next, having to raise up on her elbow to get a good look at her.

Wynonna's eyes are darting back and forth under her eyelids and her hand is curled tightly around the hilt of her knife. Waverly sits up with a sigh. She takes her sister's hand and begins to peel her fingers away. She sets the knife on the coffee table beside her.

"We're gonna be okay, Wynonna. We're gonna get to a safe zone and as soon as everything is calmer, we're gonna make sure that Daddy and Gus are safe." She presses a kiss to her sister's hand, then presses it to her cheek.

"Waverly?" 

Nicole's hoarse whisper breaks Waverly out of her meditative stupor. She drops her sister's hand, looking over her shoulder at the other woman in the room. Nicole is sitting up, squinting through the darkness to look at Waverly.

"Hey. I, uh... I'm okay. Just woke up. You can go back to sleep." Waverly gives her a smile, trying to ignore the sting of tears in her eyes.

Nicole rubs her own eyes, her nose scrunching with the motion. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Another time, maybe," Waverly says. There's too much to talk about and Waverly is certain that she doesn't have the words to talk about any of it yet. She doesn’t even know what exactly she needs to talk about. There’s an order to these things, one that she needs to figure out before talking about it with another person.

“‘Kay," Nicole mumbles, her voice heavy with exhaustion. Within a few moments, Waverly can hear her breathing turn slow and steady. Waverly lays back down, trying to settle herself as comfortably as possible on the floor.

She stares at the ceiling for what feels like forever. She listens for any noise, hearing nothing but Nicole and Wynonna's breathing and the rustle of the wind in the trees outside. Usually Waverly would be comforted by these sounds, but something is off.

It takes a few more minutes of listening for Waverly to realize that the heater isn't making its usually slight rattle. Right. If the power is down, there won't be any heat. And it's about to be damn cold in a couple of months. Just another incentive to get to a safe zone as soon as possible.

—

Nicole wakes the next morning with a start, jolting up with her hand over her pounding heart. She calms down when she remembers where she is, remembers the women still laying in front of her.

The soft light of dawn fills the room, casting a glow over everything. She sighs. She knows that she won't be able to get back to sleep anytime soon; besides, they should get a move on before too long. They'll want to get as much out of the daylight as possible. 

Nicole raises to her feet, taking care to fold the quilt back up before placing it on top of Waverly's desk. She leans down, grabbing her heavy utility belt from the ground. Once it's fastened into place, she grabs her boots and sits on the wooden chair to lace them up. 

She hears a rustle from across the room and looks over to see Waverly, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. She groans softly and Nicole thinks that she can hear her back pop.

"Hey," she says, standing up with a sigh. You been up for very long?" Waverly crosses the room, giving Nicole a tight-lipped smile before she picks up the quilt. She smooths it out before walking to the cabinet. She opens it, laying the quilt on the bottom with a gentle pat.

"Not long. Just a few minutes," Nicole answers. Waverly nods, returning to the desk. She drops into her chair and begins to sort through her papers, sorting them into neat piles. She paperclips them after they've been put in their respective piles. Waverly pulls a desk drawer open, dropping the clipped documents into it.

"Are you hungry?" She asks, looking up once her task is completed. Nicole hadn't realized until now just how hungry she actually is. The adrenaline, then the exhaustion, had shut that part of her brain off.

"God, yes." Nicole groans, casting her eyes up towards the ceiling. She can hear Waverly rummaging around in her drawers.

“I don’t have much, but here. It’s uh.. it’s vegan. Hope you don’t mind,” Waverly says, tossing a granola bar onto Nicole’s lap. She picks it up, studying it for a moment before shrugging and ripping the wrapper off.

“Too hungry to care,” she says through a mouthful of dates and coconut. Waverly smiles, watching the deputy for a moment before she unwraps her own bar.

In only a few short bites, Nicole is done with the granola bar. She stares wistfully at the wrapper. It wasn't nearly enough to satiate the gnawing hunger that she's now aware of. 

Nicole looks up again when she hears Waverly push her chair back from the desk. She again walks to the cabinet and pulls out a drawstring bag.

"Uh, could you..." Waverly spins one finger in a circle. It takes Nicole a moment to realize that she's asking her to turn around.

"Oh! Yeah!" Nicole says, her eyes catching on the tank top now in Waverly's hands. She turns in her chair, twisting her body as far as she can. It would be pretty impractical to go out in Waverly's current outfit, no matter how well the outfit suits her.

Waverly clears her throat after a few moments and Nicole assumes that she's okay to turn back around. So she does, and she's greeted with the sight of Waverly in a form-fitting white tank top and black yoga pants ending mid-calf. Nicole averts her eyes to try to beat back the blush that's creeping onto her cheeks. 

Thankfully, Wynonna begins to stir on the couch. Waverly crosses to her desk, grabbing a granola bar for her sister. She sits on the couch next to her as Wynonna sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Nicole pats her belt, suddenly remembering the city map that she keeps tucked away in one of the pockets. She finds it and leans over the desk, spreading it out. “Here,” she mumbles to herself, grabbing a pen out of a cup. She circles their location on the map, then locates the nearest base.

She stares at it, mentally gaging the distance that they’ll have to travel. According to the scale, it’s about 25 kilometers. That could usually be manageable by foot in most of a day, maybe a little less if they really hustle. Now, though... Nicole has no idea how long it’ll take them. And no idea what’ll be waiting for them when they get there.

It would, honestly, be useless to try to map out a route. They'll have to play it by ear and take whatever route is available. The organizational center of Nicole's brain wants to throw a fit. First priority, though, should be to get some real food. 

Nicole's radio has been silent since yesterday, but she decides to give it another try. She pushes the transmit button down, waiting for a few beats before speaking into it. "This is Deputy Nicole Haught with the Calgary Sheriff's Department. I am currently holed up at the University, about to begin the trek to the HMCS Tecumseh base. If anyone has information, please respond. Over."

Waverly, then, is hovering over Nicole's shoulder. She studies the map even though she knows it well, having lived in the city for well over a decade. "Tecumseh, huh?" she asks. Her eyes fixate on the circled base.

"I figure it's our best shot. I'm hoping that we can cut through some residential areas that'll be mostly abandoned..." Nicole trails her finger through a neighborhood, a vague frown tugging at her lips. Her forehead wrinkles in worry. "But I'm not sure how well we'll be able to follow a route."

"Probably super well," Wynonna says from across the room. She's still sitting on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the arm. She's tossed her granola bar wrapper on the floor, which earns her a disapproving glare from Waverly. “Do you guys really think that the government has a hold on this?”

“Do we really have a better plan?” Nicole asks, trying not to let the bite of irritation slip into her voice. She glares at Wynonna, who conveniently seems to ignore it. "Because I'm pretty sure that we don't. Either we do something or we sit around here and wait to get eaten."

"'Doing something' is going to get us eaten! You're suggesting that we go out into the fucking thick of it and head to the place that every other goddamn idiot in the province went to." Wynonna sits up then, abandoning her air of calm indifference.

"So you would rather wait around and starve? Because that's what's going to happen."

"I don't give a shit what you do, but Waverly and I should find a car and go get our relatives. You can go-"

"Both of you!" Waverly interjects, her hands flying up into the air to punctuate her point. The outburst forces both women to fall silent as they look at her with wide eyes. "Cut it out! Arguing isn't going to get us anywhere. It is not safe here," she says, looking at Nicole. The deputy looks pleased with herself until Waverly begins to speak again. "But leaving isn't exactly safe either. We don't know what's out there, and the base might have fallen. But we need to try something. And I am not going to leave Nicole alone after all she's done for us already."

Nicole shoots Wynonna a smirk, glad that her point had won over. (And secretly glad that Waverly still wants her around.) Wynonna flips her the bird the second that her sister's back is turned. Nicole is tempted to return the gesture, but she's sure that Waverly would notice it.

"Fine. But if I get eaten, I'm coming back to haunt your ass so hard," Wynonna says. "I will never leave you alone. Not a moment of peace."

"Wynonna," Waverly says, turning back around. Her tone is deadly enough to drop an elephant dead. "Stop it. Now."

Wynonna holds her hands up, unable to argue with her sister much longer. She snatches her boots from the floor and yanks them on, pulling the laces so tight that Nicole thinks that they're going to snap. Wynonna finishes the ensemble off by grabbing her knife off of the table and shoving it into her boot.

Nicole turns back to her map. She takes one last long look at it before folding it up and placing it back in its pocket as she stands. She instinctively checks the rest of her belt and its snaps, ensuring that everything is in its place. Baton, handcuffs, pepper spray. Everything seems good.

"We should get going soon. I don't think it's a good idea to stick around campus much longer. Too much of a population hotspot," Nicole says. She picks up the tire iron that she had left leaning against the desk.

"Who put you in charge?" Wynonna asks, her voice a low grumble. Nicole doesn't dignify her with a response, opting instead to roughly shoulder past her on her way to the door. 

Waverly follows behind, stopping to whisper to her sister. "Wy, please be nice. I really don't want to drive her away."

Wynonna stares at her sister with pursed lips, wanting to stay strong in her convictions. But she can't deny her sister's big doe eyes, and if she's being honest with herself, she doesn't have a reason to dislike Haught.   
  
The endless line of therapists that she had to see after acting out in class a few too many times would probably call it an inferiority complex. Wynonna would just prefer to say that she doesn't like lame-ass cops.

"I'll be civil," Wynonna says. Waverly smiles even though her sister is obviously just giving in because she can't say no. She's used that to her advantage more times than she can possibly count.

"Thank you," Waverly says. She places a gentle hand on her sister's arm, rubbing her thumb across the soft, worn leather of her jacket. "Let's get going now."

Nicole has pushed back the bookcase more, allowing them to easily squeeze through. She waits until the sisters are done with their hushed conversation to open the door. She peeks her head around the door to make sure that nothing had popped up recently. 

"Clear," Nicole says as she exists the room. Wynonna is next, and Waverly brings up the rear. She casts a longing look at her office. Hopefully she'll be able to come back soon. She closes the door with a soft click. 

Nicole leads the way, taking small and silent steps. She has her tire iron at the ready, held in front of her in a baseball bat grip. Wynonna is tense, probably frustrated with their slow progress. True to her word, though, she doesn't say anything.

They reach the end of the hallway after a few moments of starting and stopping whenever they hear the slightest creak. Wynonna is practically bouncing up and down, but she's doing all she can to stay patient. It's better to be safe and slow than to get ambushed.

Nicole eases the heavy front door open, gesturing for one of the Earp sisters to peek through. Wynonna does so, squinting for a moment as the bright morning sun shines into her eyes. 

There's a small group of zombies still milling about in the courtyard, probably around a hundred meters away. Hopefully far enough that they can sneak by without being noticed. One of the benefits of the Phillips building being so old is that it's at the edge of campus- close to the residential street that Nicole wants to head to. 

"I think we’ll be okay if we sneak along the side. And stay quiet,” Wynonna says, looking back at the other two. They nod and Nicole heaves the door open a bit farther, allowing Wynonna to slip through. She’s followed closely by Waverly, then Nicole, who decides to leave the door open to avoid any unnecessary noise.

Wynonna has begun to creep along the side of the building, pressing as close as she can. She tries to step over the flowers neatly planted there, knowing that Waverly would give her yet another disappointed look if they were crushed. It’s the small things.

Nicole’s boots sink into the soft earth as she follows the Earps. She keeps a close eye on the zombies across the yard. Some of them are turned towards them, but it seems like their eyesight is just deteriorated enough to miss them. 

With Wynonna leading them, their progress is faster. She makes it to the end of the building in just a few short moments, then peeks around that corner. "Clear up here. We going right or straight, Haught?"

Nicole hesitates for a moment, casting her memory back to the map. "Right until we hit the next block, then to the north. Takes us through a few residential neighborhoods. We'll hit a stretch of commercial blocks after that and we'll have to play it by ear then."

Wynonna nods, rounding the corner. It's a short walk through the field to the street, which is almost completely empty. There are two cars left parked by the sidewalk, but both of them look like they've been there for ages. 

Wynonna slows down when she hits asphalt, knowing that her steps will be louder without the cushion of soft earth and grass. All three of them cast nervous glances around as they creep across the street.

They make it across to the sidewalk without issue. They pause for a moment to regroup, gathering around in a circle.

"Should we check houses? Try to find some supplies or other survivors?" Nicole asks, her voice lowered to a whisper. She looks around the abandoned street, taking stock of the open doors and the broken windows.

"This close to campus it's only frat boys who exist off of lukewarm beer and Takis," Waverly says, trying to fight a grimace. "Besides, everything looks abandoned already. Maybe we should wait a few blocks before searching?"

"Fair enough," Nicole says, nodding. When she looks around, now, she does notice an extraordinary amount of Greek letters nailed onto the doors and painted on banners. The landscaping in this neighborhood leaves a lot to be desired- college kids generally aren't bothered by bothered by the overgrown bushes spilling out onto the lawns that they haven't mown in months.

It makes Nicole nervous, but they press on. She keeps a cautious eye out for any zombies, trying to strain her ears as well. She doesn't hear anything but the rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant chirp of birds.

Her caution isn't enough to make up for Wynonna's lack of caution, though. They're passing one of those overgrown bushes when she hears a snarl, a deep and throaty noise that sends a chill down her spine.

"Wynonna!" Waverly yells, forgetting for a moment to stay quiet as the zombie grabs her sister. He's huge, probably a university hockey player. One of those giant hands wraps around Wynonna's arm, yanking her closer. Wynonna stumbles, her feet almost leaving the ground as she's pulled into the zombie.

She regains her footing, her hands clawing uselessly at his arms. His teeth draw ever closer to her neck, gnashing and dripping with rank saliva. Nicole watches this with horror, her eyes wide and her pupils dilated so far that the soft brown is nearly overtaken.

Nicole snaps out of her stupor when Wynonna screams. The sound is ripped from her throat, an expression of sheer terror. "Wynonna, duck!" she yells, raising the tire iron high as she sprints, closing the gap between her and Wynonna.

At this point, Wynonna is terrified enough that she would trust anyone, even that loser rodeo clown Champ that Waverly spent way too much time on. So she bends as low as she can, her shoulder pulling uncomfortably as she counteracts the zombie's aggressive force. 

Nicole is thankful for the few years that she had played softball while she was figuring out what sport she wanted to pursue in high school. When she reaches Wynonna, she winds back and swings the tire iron with as much force as she can muster.

She connects with the zombie's jaw, sending it reeling. She hears a sickening crunch and a spray of black, viscous blood flies from its mouth. Wynonna is able to wrench her arm away, taking a few stumbling steps away from it.

The zombie is only momentarily deterred. When it charges again, though, Nicole is ready. She meets it with another powerful swing, this time connecting with its temple. The end of the tire iron cracks the temporal bone and sinks into the soft flesh just slightly. Not enough to put it down, though.

Nicole wrenches her weapon out of the zombie's head with a grunt. Her eyes are wild and there's a spray of blood across her face, accentuated against her pale skin. Nicole pulls back again, swinging one final time. 

This time, when the tire iron connects with the former hockey player's temple, it sinks in and through to its brain. It slumps to the ground, with its fractured jaw slack and its eyes milky white and unfocused.

Nicole drops the tire iron and it lands onto the ground with a metallic clatter. She leans down with her hands on her knees, panting.

"Shit, Haught," Wynonna says, rubbing the red mark where the zombie had grabbed her wrist. It hadn't managed to sink its nails into her skin, thank god. Nicole has straightened up now, the tire iron back in her blood-spattered hands. "Thanks for not letting me get eaten."

"Told you that I was in this to help you," Nicole says. She's still a bit breathless, but she offers Wynonna a tight lipped smile. And then she wipes the blood off of her face.

—

They walk a few more blocks, somehow avoiding any teams of undead football players or a troupe of zombified cheerleaders. After those few blocks, the houses look like they were more calmly evacuated. Or, at least, not looted. The doors aren't partially ripped off of their hinges and the windows aren't shattered.

They choose a large, craftsman-style house that's painted a light blue to search. Nicole and Wynonna both need a break after their encounter, and all three of them could use some food.

Nicole takes the lead. She tries the doorknob, finding it unsurprisingly locked. "I don't want to kick it in. Too damn loud," Nicole says, an unsatisfied frown crossing her lips. She stares at the door for a long moment before a light goes off in her mind and she crosses over to the window. 

It's still partially open, allowing for the cool breeze to filter in. There's a screen covering the window, but those are easy enough to pop off with a little bit of work. Nicole punches through the fine mesh, then reaches through and grabs onto the bottom of the screen. She pulls the frame away from herself forcefully, causing the entire screen to pop off and fall into the living room.

She reaches in and pushes the window the rest of the way up. It's an opening, but it would be awkward and difficult to force herself through. Nicole looks up, fixing Waverly with a hopefully-charming smile.

"Hey, Waverly?" She's greeted with silence and a suspicious look from the Earp. "Could you crawl through and unlock the door for us?"

Waverly hesitates, letting the words sit heavily in the air between them. She eventually sighs, looking up at the sky with a muttered "Dear lord," before approaching. "This better not be a regular occurrence."

"I'll certainly try not to make it be regular," Nicole says, her dimples coming out with the now-genuine smile that she offers. Waverly tosses her club in first, letting it hit the carpet with a muted thud. She climbs in after, grunting as she hoists herself up. 

Waverly is just small enough to make it through the window comfortably. Once inside, she grabs her club and glances around for any sign of movement. When she's certain that nothing is going to come take a chunk out of her neck, she moves to the door.

It makes Nicole and Wynonna both anxious when she disappears for that moment, but the click of the lock and the door swinging open relaxes them.

"Tada," Waverly says, spreading her arms out. The other two follow her in. Nicole grins at Waverly, who rolls her eyes playfully.

"Alright, chicas, let's find some grub," Wynonna says, already making a beeline for the kitchen that she can see past the living room.

"We should do a sweep first," Nicole says, but it falls on uncaring ears. She sighs, turning to Waverly, who hasn't yet gone to join her sister. "Will you...?"

"Of course. Safety first, after all!" Waverly responds, her tone chipper and her eyes crinkling with a smile. Nicole returns with a smile of her own. 

Waverly goes to check the hallway leading to the kitchen while Nicole sweeps the living room. It looks like a completely normal house, with a few plants on the coffee table and some toys strewn on the floor. There's a Playstation below the TV, and there are two controllers laying haphazardly on the floor. The sight makes Nicole's heart sink, but she consoles herself with the knowledge that there isn't any blood.

She moves back to the small foyer area, opening up the closet. There's a thick stack of heavy winter coats on the rack, along with a pile of hats and gloves on the shelf above. There are boots and sneakers piled up on the floor. Nicole kneels down, pushing a couple of rain boots aside. There, in the corner, is a weekend hiking pack that looks like it's gone unused for years.

Nicole pulls it out. It's smaller than the one she usually uses, which is meant for multiple weeks at a time. But it's a brand that she recognizes, one that she knows is durable and won't collapse on her.  
  
Nicole unzips the pack, reaching in to feel around. Completely empty, but that isn't a surprise. Once it's zipped back up, she stands and hefts it up onto her back. "Find something good?" Waverly asks, suddenly behind her.

"Yeah, I figured that a good pack would be pretty handy," she says, turning around to face Waverly. "How about you?"

"Kid's rooms," she responds with a sigh. Nicole nods. "But the first floor is clear. Wynonna is already raiding the pantry. Seems like there's a lot there."

"Good. If you want to join her, I can do the second floor alone."

Waverly shakes her head, glancing up the stairs in front of them. "No. I don't really think that we should do sweeps alone. Too dangerous."

"What about Wynonna?" Nicole asks, wincing slightly as she hears a clatter from the other room. It sounds like she had dropped a can. 

"She'll be okay down here. Barring any spontaneous zombification, it's clean." Nicole nods, finally accepting Waverly's answer.

They head up the stairs, walking lightly to avoid any creaking on the steps. The upstairs is dim, but Nicole doesn't think that it's dark enough to warrant breaking out the flashlight. Since she switched to day shift a year and a half ago, she hasn't changed the batteries. Until they find some that'll work, she wants to be as conservative with the flashlight as possible.

In front of them lies what looks like another sitting room, dominated by large bookcases and wall shelves full of houseplants. Nicole imagines that this is exactly what Waverly’s house would look like.

Waverly, partially confirming Nicole’s musings, takes a few hesitant steps forward as she stares awestruck at the sight. Her fingers trail lightly over the spines of the books and she uses the soft light filtering through the window to read the titles.

"Nicole, look," she whispers, turning her head back to Nicole, who is still standing at the top of the stairs. Nicole smiles, walking forward to meet Waverly. "They must have been a collector. Look-" she starts, moving over to one of the bookcases and pulling out a thick tome, "there are a lot of first editions."

Nicole looks over her shoulder. The book certainly looks old, but Nicole has no idea what indicates a first edition or not. Waverly's excitement is palpable, though, and Nicole can't help but grin at her.

"Pretty cool place to stumble on, huh?" Waverly nods, but the bulk of her attention is already focused back on the books. Nicole lets her continue her exploration for a few more moments before she hears a creak somewhere down the hallway.

"Waverly, lets finish our sweep, okay?" Nicole asks, her hand twitching towards her service pistol. She has to remind herself that she shouldn't use it, especially not this close to other houses that might be hiding zombies.

Instead, she grips her tire iron tightly. Waverly puts the book she was looking at back on the shelf, also alerting to the sound.

The hallway is short, ending in only one door. Nicole takes the lead, pushing the door open slowly. She peeks through, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. It appears to be a completely normal master bedroom, dominated by a huge, unmade bed. 

Nicole steps in, waiting for a moment after to see if the noise comes again. Everything is silent, prompting Nicole to walk further in. To the right, there are the double doors of a closet, to the left, another closed door that Nicole assumes belongs to a bathroom.

She goes there first, cracking the door open enough to look in. She can feel Waverly hovering behind her. Nothing rushes out and attacks them. Nicole opens the door further, allowing some of the light from the main room to illuminate the bathroom.

Nicole is jealous of the spacious bathtub, but she doesn't see anything else eye-catching or life-threatening. They'll come back through after they regroup with Wynonna to do a more comprehensive search for supplies. For now, Nicole turns back to the bedroom.

The only thing left is the closet. "Be ready for anything, Waverly," Nicole says. She places her hand on the handle, nodding to Waverly. She has her club ready, slung over her shoulder like it's a baseball bat.

Nicole yanks one side of the door open- then, a hiss. But Nicole's ears instantly recognize the sound, placing it as a noise that she's heard often at her own house.

She looks in to see a little black and white cat, his yellow eyes glinting in the sudden light. She smiles, nodding at Waverly to relax.

"Hey, little guy. They left you here, huh?" She sinks down onto one knee, holding her hand out for the cat. He hisses again, shrinking away from her hand. "It's okay, bud."

"What should we do with him?" Waverly asks, watching with her eyebrows furrowed. Nicole sighs, pulling her hand back. She stares at the cat for a few long moments before answering.

"I don't know. We can't take him with us, though." It's something that she hasn't thought about before now, but it does trouble her. There are so many pets left abandoned with no idea what's going on. It breaks her heart, especially when she thinks about her own abandoned cat. "We can leave his food and water out and just... hope for the best."

By now, the cat has decided that they aren't going to try to kill him. He creeps out of the closet, still keeping a watchful eye on them. As soon as Nicole moves to get up, the cat darts out of the room and out of sight.

The two women follow him down, but they don't see him immediately. "Hey, crazy kids! Come get some munchies!" Wynonna calls from the kitchen, having heard their descending footsteps.

They join Wynonna in the kitchen, where she has an impressive spread laid out on the table. She's steadily working through a box of Gushers, their wrappers piling up in front of her.

"You see a cat running by?" Nicole asks as she approaches, studying the contents of the table. She grabs a bag of Goldfish before sitting down across from Wynonna. Waverly also studies the food laid out, grabbing a few different things to look at their ingredients lists. She seems discontent with most of them, but eventually settles on a bag of trail mix.

"Uh, no? Did you get bit? Waverly, do you know if seeing little furry demons is a symptom?" Nicole gives her a blank-faced stare, while Wynonna continues to grin and rip open another pack of Gushers. 

"No, we saw a cat upstairs. It ran down here," Waverly says after swallowing a mouthful of trail mix. 

"Oh. Well, in that case, my answer is still no. And before either of you ask, we can't keep it."

"We didn't want to," Nicole says, brushing the cracker dust off of her hands. "Just wanted to set some food out for him."

"Mm. Waves, do you know if animals can get zombied? I would hate to have to deal with, like, zombie coyotes."

"Not that I've heard or read. We should still be careful, probably." They sit in silence for a few more moments, all three eating until they feel satisfied. Waverly stands and goes to the fridge, pulling open the crisper drawer. She picks out the fruit and vegetables that still look good, telling them that they should try to eat something fresh before they might not get a chance to.

After they're finished, Waverly gathers up all of the wrappers and throws them away. She and Nicole work together to pack their bags. Nicole takes the bulk of the food, as she has the bigger pack. Waverly had taken her drawstring bag from her office, allowing her to take only the lighter items.

Nicole digs through the drawers until she finds a can opener, shoving it in with the rest. Wynonna has already busied herself with searching the downstairs bathroom, and Nicole can hear pill bottles rustling. 

Waverly heads back upstairs; Nicole heads into the attached garage. One side seems to be dedicated to a workbench and a few tall tool chests. The other side seems to be devoted to their outdoors equipment.

Nicole recognizes a rolled up tent and two sleeping bags next to it. It wouldn't be bad to have these, accounting for the worst possible scenario.

The tent is compact enough to fit into the pack. It's probably only meant for two people, then. She has just enough space to shove the first sleeping bag into the pack. She has to strap the second to the front of the pack. She shoulders it, grunting slightly as she stands. It's damn heavy, but she'll manage.

Right as she's about to step back into the main house, she notices an open bag of cat food by the door. She hefts it up and through the doorway. 

"Here, kitty kitty. I have some food for you," she calls, shaking the bag. The cat must be hungrier than it is scared, because it comes running. Nicole shakes a good amount of food into the bowl in the corner and the cat immediately takes his place, eating while still casting a wary eye at Nicole.

He finishes the bowl in a few short minutes. "I know, poor little baby," Nicole murmurs. After a moment of thought, she tips the rest of the bag onto the floor. The cat looks like he's never seen a happier day in his life.

Wynonna comes into the kitchen then, snorting as she watches the cat practically dive into the pile of food. "Guess you two weren't kidding about the cat."

"Nope. I hope that this all blows over and his parents can come home soon," Nicole says, sighing. She hopes that she can come home to her cat soon. "But anyway, what did you find?"

"First aid kit, pills 'n shit," Wynonna says. Nicole waits for an elaboration, but isn't surprised when she doesn't get one. She can only hope that Wynonna isn’t going to pop any of the pills.

Waverly comes down the stairs then, saving both women from either an awkward silence or an awkward conversation. "Hey! You found the cat," she says, looking at the little creature. He's now laying protectively in front of his food pile, his tail flicking lazily. 

"Yep. Hopefully he'll be okay for a while," Nicole says. "Find anything good?"

"Blankets and some hiking socks. I figure they'll be good for all the walking we have ahead of us. First aid stuff in the bathroom," she says. Her bag is overstuffed, obviously not meant for this type of load.

The other two sit down for a moment, pulling on the thick hiking socks to protect their feet for the coming trek. Nicole already has thick wool socks on. She learned her lesson after her first few weeks on the beat, when her feet were so bloody and raw that she swore never to wear improper foot protection again.

"Alright, ladies," Wynonna says, standing again. "Let's hit the road."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one are a little bit lighter before we get into some heavier stuff. I hope you enjoyed this nice little chapter :)  
> (Even though little is not the right word. It's the longest chapter in this story by far haha)


	5. Are There Still Beautiful Things?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After witnessing a horror, the Earps and Nicole settle for the night.

After five kilometers, the women are out of the residential neighborhoods and beginning to make their way through the commercial area. They had gone through those kilometers with relative ease. They did have a few run-ins with the zombies, but they were lucky enough to come out of them unscathed. After their encounter with the hockey player, none of them were willing to be caught off guard.

The streets here are more tangled with abandoned cars, and there's a fair amount of zombies milling around. Most of the store windows have been shattered as a result of the panicked looting that had started right after the first emergency broadcasts. This slows their progress even further- they have to skirt around the glass, terrified that the sound of it crunching underfoot would draw a mob.

“Maybe we should go around and find an alley,” Nicole says. She’s crouched low to the ground as she surveys the scene in front of them. The street stretches on as far as she can see, an ocean of crashed cars and hungry monsters. They had been able to follow the main street for a while, but this looks impossible to get through.

“It’ll be tight,” Wynonna responds from her position a few feet away from Nicole, also crouched down. The zombies don’t seem to have the best eyesight, but staying low feels right. Waverly would explain it as an innate instinct telling them to make themselves smaller to avoid predatorial detection. Seems about right. 

Wynonna pulls the flask she had found days before out of her pocket, taking a long swig to calm the shaking in her hands. If asked, she would definitely deny the constant pit of dread that she’s been feeling. She can’t get the images of Willa and that girl at the college and all the rest of them out of her head.

When she looks at Waverly, the images quiet. Only because they’re replaced with the images of losing another sister, the last piece of her life being wrought away from her. It would be so easy to lose her now.

So she’ll put on a brave face and act like nothing can hurt them. And she’ll let the guard dog stick around. And maybe even attempt to be nice. She has her map back out, spread out on the sidewalk. She and Waverly have their heads bent together to look at it and Nicole is tracing her finger along the road lines. Waverly looks up and smiles at Nicole, saying something that Wynonna can't make out.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. "Swear to fuckin' god, baby girl, if you're into the cop..." She takes another long drink from the flask. There's not much left, she notes, frowning as she puts it back into her pocket. 

Waverly pops up then, heading back over to her sister. Wynonna offers her a small smile. "You're right. It is going to be tight, and visibility might be lower, but we're gonna try for the alley. If you're okay with that?"

"Yeah. You're the boss around here, kiddo." Waverly smiles, shaking her head. She's always craved her sister's unrivaled approval, and apparently it just takes an apocalypse to get it. "When are we headed?"

"Now," Nicole says, suddenly in front of them. She's gripping the straps of her pack tightly, and she looks haggard. Her formerly tight braid is coming loose, wisps of hair escaping the plait. The dark circles under her eyes contrast sharply with her pale skin. Her uniform shirt is almost half unbuttoned, revealing a black tank top underneath. "I don't like being out in the open like this."

"You look like shit, dude," Wynonna says as she stands. She slings her own backpack over her shoulders, then reaches down to grab the hunting knife from her boot. She used to just use it to throw at shit as a party trick, but now it's practically attached to her hand.

Nicole huffs. "Thanks for telling me, but I already knew that. Let's just get going." She turns and begins to walk away, her shoulders tense.

"Guess I shouldn't have said that?" Wynonna asks, turning to her sister.

"Come on, Wy," Waverly says, also turning and following after Nicole. Wynonna sighs and goes after the other two. Nicole leads them into the narrow alley behind the buildings. 

"Keep your eyes peeled," Nicole says, looking back at the rest of the group. "It might be safer back here, but we can't let our guards down."

There's no need to worry about glass back here, but the lack of visibility does make Wynonna antsy. They don't see any zombies immediately, but the run in with the hockey player had taught them that there's a lot of bullshit that can hide behind dark corners. Still, she would prefer a few hidden zombies to a mass of zombies chasing after them.

They still have a hell of a long way to go to get to the base. It's slow going, and Wynonna is getting increasingly anxious as they press on. They haven't even seen another living human, much less any sign that the military is on top of the situation.

The idle moaning from the zombies on the other side of the buildings seems far louder than Wynonna would expect. Her nerves are already on-edge, and this only serves to fray them further. If they get trapped back here by a group of those things, it's probably game over.

Nicole looks back at them, her jaw clenched tightly. "It's okay," she says, although she doesn't sound very sure of herself. "If we need, we'll just duck into one of these stores and wait it out."

Wynonna isn't sure how long 'waiting it out' would take, and she doesn't think that she wants to find out. She shakes her head. "Let's just keep moving."

So they continue. Crossing the street feels like the most dangerous thing that they've ever done. They move slowly, keeping low to the ground. Thankfully, the zombies seem to be focused only on moving from one point to another, and they don't look their way.

There are a lot of them, though. More than they've seen at one time before. Wynonna holds her breath, watching their shuffling feet with horror. She feels Waverly's hand on hers, urging her forward.

Wynonna snaps out of her almost trance-like state, continuing to walk ahead. Back in the cover of the alley, she releases her breath. "Jesus fuck, guys. Why are there so many?"

Nicole seems shell-shocked, her eyes wide and unfocused. "I have no idea. We need to get the hell out of here."

The further they walk, the more zombies that they hear. Every time that they have to cross the street, it's a terrifying ordeal that they don't expect to survive. There seems to be some kind of hive mind keeping them focused only on what's in front of them, though. Almost like they're migrating. 

They walk for a tense, terrifying kilometer before the crowd thins to the point where it would actually be manageable. Nicole holds her hand up, sinking to the ground beside a dumpster.

The Earp sisters also sit, with Wynonna holding her head in her hands and Waverly placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She meets Nicole’s eyes, holding her gaze for a long moment. Where she expected to see terror, or horror, or mourning, she sees nothing. Nicole’s empty gaze turns away from her.

Wynonna drags her hands down her face, slowly exhaling. “What now?”

She’s met with silence. Waverly wants to come up with something, but she can’t think of anything that even begins to encompass everything that she’s feeling. Her research had never suggested anything quite this dire, and she had been able to convince herself that this was all just going to go away once they got to the base. Now, though, she was beginning to doubt everything.

So she looks to Nicole for an answer. Nicole, who seems strong and capable and like she should have an answer. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice breaking. "I want to say that we keep going, but I might be leading you guys into nothing but death."

"Fuck it," Wynonna says, letting her hands smack down onto her thighs. "They're all headed that way, right? So we're headed away from the death. Let's just... let's just fucking go."

Wynonna is already standing and walking down the alley before Waverly and Nicole even process her words. Waverly scrambles to her feet, chasing after her sister. When she catches up, she grabs her arm, forcing her to stop.

By then, Nicole has caught up to them. "Wynonna, are you sure? We can just... You guys don't have to keep doing this. You can go and get your family."

"We'll keep going, Haught. Together. That way seems like a no-go zone anyway." As if to punctuate her point, the women hear the distant roar of gunfire somewhere behind them. Nicole thinks that it sounds almost like a machine gun, but it's too far away to really tell.  
At the very least, it’s confirmation that there’s another living person out there. Or an incredibly dexterous zombie, Wynonna thinks with a sardonic smile.

Nicole stares at her, and Wynonna wishes that her stupid doe eyes would shut up. She doesn't think that she can handle that look from her sister and their adopted pet cop.

"Okay," Nicole says then, nodding. Thankfully, she turns her gaze away. "Let's go, then."

—

They choose a relatively windowless pet store for their camp that night. Nicole recognizes it vaguely, like she might have stopped here once on her way home to get food for Calamity. 

They had cleared the store in short order. Obviously, pets hadn't been a great concern when people were evacuating. Waverly is just glad that this isn't the type of pet store that actually carries live animals, so she doesn't have to feel guilty about their impending fates.

Nicole, more paranoid than usual after what they had seen earlier, searched desperately for a way to barricade the doors. The shelves were bolted to the floor, though, and there wasn't enough furniture around to push against the doors.

She settles for piling every 50 pound bag of dog food that she can find against the doors. She had stripped her belt and her thick work shirt off, leaving her in those clingy pants and her black tank top.

Waverly had offered her help, but Nicole waved her off. Instead, she watched Nicole hefting the bags, balancing one on each shoulder. Soon, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that made her glow even in their dim surroundings. The muscles that had previously been hidden are now out in full force, and Waverly is stunned.

Waverly is interrupted from her shameless staring by Wynonna calling out for her. "Hey, Waves! Come check this out!"

Waverly sighs, pushing away from the shelf she was leaning on to go find her sister. She finds her towards the back, standing next to a shelf full of dog beds. 

"What's up?" she asks, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to one side as she studies her sister. Wynonna pulls a huge dog bed off of the shelf, throwing it down to the floor. It looks fitting for a Great Dane or some other equally huge dog.

"Look at this! These dogs are sleeping better than me," she says, toeing at the bed. A grin crosses her face then and she steps around to the front of the bed. Wynonna drops unceremoniously into it. "Oh yeah. Livin' in luxury. This thing is memory foam."

"What is she doing?" Nicole asks, her voice weary and tinged with confusion. Waverly turns to find the deputy standing at the end of the aisle. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she looks at the sight in front of her.

"I'll let you know when I figure that out," Waverly replies. She turns to look at her sister again, who has popped up to grab a second bed. She throws that one down in front of the first.

When she sits back down, she stretches out, her feet resting on the second bed. She rests her head against the raised edge of the bed, then clasps her hands behind her head. "This, dear Haught, is called relaxation. You should really try it sometime."

Nicole tries not to let the barb sink into her skin too much. She turns wordlessly, walking away before Wynonna has a chance to make another one of her quips. She heads for the back office, where they had left their gear.

Nicole has kneeled down in front of her pack when she hears the soft footfalls of Waverly's sneakers coming up behind her. She pauses after removing the sleeping bag from the pack and setting it gently on the ground beside it. She waits for Waverly to speak, and it isn't long before the silence is broken.

"Hi." Then a pause, and Nicole can hear Waverly scuffing the ground with the toe of her shoe. "I wanted to apologize about Wynonna. I know that she can be a lot, and she can seem really mean, but humor is usually just how she tries to deal with stuff, and I know that's not an excuse, but-"

Nicole cuts her off by standing and placing a hand on the smaller girl's shoulder. "Waverly." Her voice is soft, placating. "It's not a big deal. I've dealt with a lot worse, I promise. Comes with the line of work. Don't stress."

Waverly smiles, looking sheepish but relieved. "Stressing is kind of what I do best."

"Well," Nicole begins, turning back around. "How about you stress about what we're going to have for dinner instead?"

Waverly kneels next to Nicole as she begins to pull cans out of her pack. "Okay," Nicole says, nodding as she looks at the spread in front of them. “They sure liked their Chef Boyardee.”

Nicole grabs a can of beef ravioli, shrugging. She looks over at Waverly, who is staring at the cans with a pinched look on her face. "Hey, what's up?"

"I, uh... I'm vegan," Waverly says, not turning her gaze away from the mostly animal-based cans of food. She doesn't want to meet Nicole's eyes and see whatever judgement might be lurking there.

"You have to eat something," Nicole says. Contrary to Waverly's anxious prediction, Nicole's voice doesn't hold any judgement. "I'm sorry there isn't anything vegan, but there's some vegetarian stuff, right?"

Nicole grabs a can of cheese ravioli- there really is a lot of Chef Boyardee- and holds it out to Waverly. Despite the semi-disgusted look on her face, she takes the can. "We can share a can of corn too, if you want. Do you wanna grab Wynonna?"

"Not yet," Waverly says, setting the can down in front of her. She stands, walking to the shoddy cupboards in the corner. This had obviously been a break room- albeit not a good one- so hopefully there are some plates or bowls.

The first cupboard is full of long-forgotten clothes. She wrinkles her nose, shutting the door before moving on to the next one. There. She has to stand on her tiptoes to grab the flimsy paper plates shoved into the corner of the shelf.

She triumphantly comes away with two plates, although they're obviously not particularly new. They're a light grey that Waverly isn't sure is intentional, and they're stamped with a cheery but faded 'happy birthday!'

Waverly hands them to Nicole, who has opened the cans and licked the smudges of metallic tomato sauce from her fingers.

"Got any forks?" She asks, grinning up at Waverly. She's distracted for a moment by her dimples and those soft brown eyes that are filled with some emotion that Waverly doesn't quite recognize. 

"I don't think I saw any up there," Waverly says. "I'll check the drawers."

Nicole stands with a soft grunt. She strides over to the cupboard, pulling it back open. "You're too short to see much in there anyway."

Waverly gapes, even though she knows that it’s just good-natured teasing. “Wow! That was a low blow, Nicole. We might have to leave you behind after all.”

“As if. Who would protect you guys from grabby hockey players?” Nicole asks as she finds a nearly empty box of forks on the top shelf of the cupboard. She shakes them at Waverly, who rolls her eyes.

“Us Earp girls are very crafty. We would have figured out. Without you, we’d be playing with a lot less dog food.”

“Touché,” Nicole says, reclaiming her spot on the ground. She scoops cold raviolis onto her plate, leaving about half of them for Wynonna. She grabs Waverly's can next, scooping a good amount onto her plate. She follows it up with a hearty helping of corn on both plates. "And dinner is served."

They eat silently, the mood in the room turning more somber than it had been before, with all the light teasing. Waverly's nose is scrunched up, but Nicole can't tell if it's because she has to break her diet or because she has to break it with something so disgusting.

"Waverly?" Nicole asks, her voice seeming too loud in the complete silence. Waverly nods, an invitation for Nicole to continue. She does after a few minutes of trying to gather her thoughts into something coherent. "So everyone is infected. But how does it actually work?"

"I'm not certain," Waverly replies, setting her fork down. "But it seems to lay dormant in everyone as soon as they come in contact with a zombie. It's not like an 'it can spontaneously turn you into a shambling cannibal' thing, though. You have to actually die before it takes over."

Nicole stares down at her plate and the smears of red tomato sauce streaked across it. That's horrifying knowledge that has Nicole's mind racing to come to the worst possible conclusions. God, if it's that contagious, it could be all over the continent in a matter of days. And then it would only take one infected person dying in a safe zone for everything to go down burning. 

"But, obviously, we don't know much about the infection itself. It's possible that there's a way to cure it. The only recorded outbreaks have been in places and times without the necessary medical knowledge to test it."

Nicole wants to believe her. But after what she had seen in Purgatory's hospital and the radio chatter that confirmed that no one has any idea what's happening, she isn't hopeful. They'd need a lot of time and research and professionals. Hopefully not all of that is lost.

Nicole's head hurts, and pondering potential doom doesn't make her feel any better. So she opts for changing the subject. "Do you know what Wynonna has against me?"

Waverly snorts, picking her fork back up. She eats half of a nasty ravioli before clearing her throat and answering. "Nothing real. Our daddy was a deputy and Wynonna always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but she refused to go to the academy and actually get qualified. She always hated school. Seeing real cops hurts her feelings."

Nicole raises her eyebrows in astonishment. "That's really it? She's been acting like I kicked her puppy. I thought she just hated me."

"I've made her promise to be nice to you. Considering that you got her to Calgary in one piece. And, you know, you saved her life. And mine."

Nicole shrugs, turning back to her dinner. She's deeply exhausted, both mentally and physically. She's scared that their choices are the wrong choices, and scared that when they get to the base, it'll be overrun. She finishes her dinner in a few short moments, then pushes the plate away.

Nicole pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. It's such a childlike motion, one that Waverly stares at openly. She hasn't seen Nicole look this tiny and defeated before. 

"Are you okay?" Waverly asks, even though she's aware that it's probably the dumbest question that she could have asked. She doubts that anyone is really okay. Even Wynonna, who's always been incredible at acting like difficult situations don't bother her. 

Nicole shrugs again. "As okay as I can be, I guess." She doesn't say anything further, but Waverly wishes she would. There's something magnetic about Nicole, something that drives her to want to know everything she can find out about Nicole. 

She's usually so confident and self-assured. The way that she walks, with her head held high and her shoulders squared, is oddly attractive to Waverly. 

That, too, is something that's been weighing on her mind whenever they have moments of peace away from the threat of zombies. Nicole is gorgeous and everything about her is so enticing. Every time she catches herself staring, she has to shake her head and remind herself that there are far more important things at hand. Besides- she's never acted on any feelings for a woman, even if she's known that she's attracted to them for a while.

"Will you help me with something?" Nicole asks suddenly, breaking Waverly out of her contemplation. She's finally looking back up, those gentle brown eyes of hers piercing into her.

"Depends," Waverly says, a bit of hesitation in her voice. Truth be told, she's fairly willing to do whatever Nicole is about to ask of her.

"I want to cut my hair," Nicole says. Waverly's eyes blow wide. Tonight is the first time that Nicole has let her hair down, and Waverly was immediately enchanted by it. Even with the slightly greasy and limp look borne from a few days without a shower, it looks soft and smooth. Waverly catches herself wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, and now it appears that she'll get that chance.

"The zombies just... grab so much," Nicole continues after the long moment without a response. "And I don't feel comfortable leaving my hair this long while they can grab onto me so easily."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Hang tight and I'll go grab some stuff," Waverly says. She stands and exits the room, shutting the door behind her quietly. She walks through the aisles, searching for the grooming section.

As she passes the aisle that Wynonna is in, she glances down it to check on her. She's still there, still lounging in her dog beds. Waverly assumes that she's asleep. She's just a few steps away from her sister when she hears a scramble, then footsteps on the tile.

"Waves!" Wynonna calls from a few steps behind her. "Hey, baby girl." Waverly turns, offering a smile to her sister. Wynonna smiles back, although it looks forced. 

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to check on you. A lot of shit has been happening," she says with a mirthless chuckle. She pauses for a moment before continuing. "I haven't been checking in as much as I should."

"It's hard, Wy," Waverly says with a sigh. "But... You know us Earp girls. Really good at bottling every difficult emotion up." Although she had meant it as a joke, it falls short. It rings too true to really be funny.

It's Wynonna's turn to sigh. She looks down at the floor, twisting her hands together nervously. "Yeah" she says, her voice so quiet that it's almost inaudible. "I'm sorry, Waverly. I know I haven't been handling this very well."

"You don't have to apologize," Waverly says, feeling guilt well up in her chest. Moments when Wynonna showed emotion like this have always been few and far between, and Waverly almost always felt bad. She hates seeing her sister nervous and remorseful like this. "We're all handling it the best we can."

"Will you apologize to Nicole for me? I've been kind of a dick to her," Wynonna says, gesturing vaguely towards the back room.

Waverly smiles then, grabbing her sister's hand. She drags her away from the aisle, causing a confused sputter from her.

"You can apologize to her yourself! Come on, we just have to grab some stuff first," Waverly says as an explanation. She finds the grooming section close to the front of the store. She drops her sister's hand, bending over to look at the variety of scissors and brushes.

"Does Nicole have a hidden dog that we're grooming?" Wynonna asks as she watches her sister pick out a brush. She grabs a pair of trimming scissors next and without prompting, Wynonna hands her hunting knife over. Waverly uses it to snap the zip ties securing the scissors to the packaging.

"No," she says, giving the scissors an experimental snip. "We're grooming Nicole."

"That's probably the single worst way you could have said that," Wynonna says, a cheeky smile growing on her face. "But, cool. Can I give her bangs?"

Waverly winces at her admittedly horrible choice of words, but she happily takes Wynonna's offered distraction. "That would be a hard no. I don't wanna fuck her up completely," she says, her wince deepening.

Wynonna had cut Waverly's bangs once, right before picture day. The look had been all the rage, but Wynonna wasn't exactly a professional hairstylist. As soon as Waverly was old enough- and tall enough- to reach the drawer they kept the matches in, she burned every single copy of that picture.

"It was not that bad," Wynonna says, scoffing as she follows her sister into the back room. Nicole looks up when the door opens, nodding at the Earps. 

She looks back down at her map, tapping a spot on it. "I think that we're right around here. We should have 15 kilometers to go still. Barring any more giant mobs," she says, waving one hand in the air vaguely, "we should hopefully be able to get there tomorrow."

"With our luck the sidewalks are going to open up and swallow us whole." Wynonna snorts, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. Nicole cracks a smile, one that Wynonna awkwardly returns. 

Waverly grins, waving her scissors in the air. "If the earth is going to swallow us, you're going to do it in style."

She pulls a disturbingly rickety chair into the small pool of moonlight cast into the room. Nicole sits in it at Waverly's urging. Waverly stares at the back of Nicole's head for a second before reaching forward with a shaking hand. She runs her fingers through Nicole's soft curls slowly.

Waverly brushes Nicole's hair out until the red strands lay straight and untangled. "Okay. How short are we going?" Waverly asks, hoping that Nicole can't hear the slight shake in her voice.

"Maybe just a little bit above my shoulders," Nicole says, raising one hand to touch the tips of her hair absentmindedly. The muscles in her shoulder flex with the movement, and Waverly’s eyes are drawn to the smooth, pale skin that contrasts with the black tank top.

Waverly nods and turns her attention back to Nicole’s hair. She picks up the scissors, takes a deep breath, and makes the first cut. She comes away with a chunk of hair and a nervous bark of laughter. 

"I hope you like your chop job, Haught," Wynonna says with a grin. She had picked up the open can of beef ravioli from the floor and she's settled in to watch the show while eating raviolis with her fingers.

"Chop job," Nicole mumbles, suddenly terrified of what's going on behind her.

"Don't listen to her," Waverly says quickly, letting the handful of hair fall to the ground. She pats Nicole's shoulder, a gentle encouragement for her to relax before she continues cutting. Most of the length is gone quickly, but Waverly takes a bit longer to actually even it out.

Once done, she brushes Nicole's shoulders off and steps back. "Okay. There you go." Without a mirror handy, Nicole just runs her fingers through her newly-short hair to judge it.

"Thanks, Waverly," Nicole says with a smile, standing from the chair. Wynonna has finished her sort-of dinner and she's now rifling through her backpack, searching for one of the packs of Gushers that she had hidden away. 

"Dr. Earp, apocalyptic hairdresser," she says. She finally finds one of the small yellow packages, then looks up to take in Nicole's new look. "Short suits you."

"Uh, thanks," Nicole says, her eyebrows furrowing together in a quick expression of confusion. This is the longest they had gone without exchanging annoyed quips, and Nicole is stunned.

Waverly shoots a pointed look at her sister before exiting the room, saying that she was going to go check the front.

Wynonna pops an orange Gusher into her mouth, chewing slowly while watching Nicole roll out one of the sleeping bags. She sits down on it, unlacing her boots with a soft sigh.

"Do you want a Gusher?" Wynonna asks, her words muffled slightly through the sticky candy. Nicole shrugs, stretching her hand out.

"Sure. It's been, like, years since I've had one."

Wynonna grunts, picking out a green one from the package. "Here. Greens are the best." She plops it into Nicole's hand. The deputy promptly pops it into her mouth. "So, uh... I wanted to talk to you."

"Go ahead," Nicole says, eyeing Wynonna with slight suspicion.

Wynonna sighs, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling. "Okay. I've been an asshole to you. I've said some really horrible shit and it's all been uncalled for. And I'm... sorry."

Nicole laughs, quiet but surprised. "That's not what I expected. But it's water under the bridge, Earp. All good."

"Thank god," Wynonna mutters under her breath. She's glad that this conversation didn't have to drag on any longer than this. "This is the last bit of sap you get from me, Haught. From here on out, I'm nothing but a badass zombie killing machine."

"Whatever you say, Wynonna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, another nice(ish) chapter before we really get into the mud next week ;) lots of bonding today!
> 
> This week has been killer. I spent hours every day writing a convoluted essay and I'm having trouble keeping up with the rest of my assignments. I'm starting to get a little burnt out, but this story helps keep my feet on the ground. (also, the heater in my room doesn't work??? I feel like that should be a base requirement I live in Montana and it's getting cold)
> 
> Anyway, I felt like I needed a nice little rant haha. I hope y'all liked this chapter!


	6. Everything's Always Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole and the Earps run into a few unfriendly faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic violence and character injury

Nicole shields her eyes against the sun, looking down the long street in front of her. It’s unseasonably warm, and Nicole has her work shirt tied around her waist. She feels grimy and her back aches from sleeping on the ground, but she’s also more motivated than she has been. They're getting close to the base, and Nicole is hopeful.

Waverly and Wynonna are a few meters in front of her, both checking abandoned cars for anything that could be of use. Waverly leans into the back of a midsize SUV, stretching to reach underneath the seats. Her hand connects with plastic and she grabs it, pulling out a bottle of water.

The rest of her search doesn't yield anything but a horribly tacky pair of sunglasses, so she returns to where Nicole is standing. She holds out the bottle, which Nicole takes with a grateful smile. "Thanks." She twists the bottle cap, breaking the seal with a quiet crack.

Waverly watches as she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a few long sips. Her throat bobs with the motion and when she pulls the bottle away, her lips glisten with moisture. Waverly pointedly looks away.

Nicole screws the cap halfway on before handing it out to Waverly. She takes it with an accidentally-curt nod, although Nicole had already turned away to watch Wynonna walk across the street towards them, shoving something awfully tequila-bottle shaped into her backpack.

"Why has whiskey gone out of style?" She grumbles, zipping up the backpack and slinging it back onto her shoulders as she stops in front of her companions. "It's like only middle-aged divorced dads and me drink whiskey anymore."

"Are you certain that you should be drinking right now?" Nicole asks, quirking an eyebrow at the other woman. "You know, considering all of the life-threatening shit happening constantly?"

"I'm not drinking _right now_ ," she says, grabbing the water bottle from her sister. "I'm saving it for later. For when we are not surrounded by life-threatening shit."

Waverly shoots her sister a suspicious look, fairly certain that Wynonna wouldn't pass up the opportunity to down a shot or two of whatever she had picked up. She tries to convince herself that not even Wynonna would be self-destructive enough to drink in the middle of the apocalypse. When that doesn't work, she settles for telling herself that the Earps have an incredibly high alcohol tolerance. That, and she's chugged the rest of the water and thrown the bottle to the ground. That'll help.

"Yeah, okay," Nicole says, an obvious concession to avoid an argument. Waverly shoots her an incredulous look. She responds with a shrug and a tiny smile. "Break over. Let's get going."

That morning, they had moved back to the main stretch of road. Despite the still-thick tangle of cars, everything had been largely quiet. They had each put down a few zombies, but they were few and far between. It was a relief after the mob they had witnessed.

That had been the topic of discussion for most of the morning. Wynonna had lost interest fairly quickly, but Nicole had listened to Waverly describe migration habits and hive mind phenomena for an hour. Nicole had joked about getting free lectures from Dr. Earp. Waverly had smiled and asked what exactly made Nicole believe the lecture was free.

Nicole was lost in this memory, only half-paying attention as she lets Wynonna take the lead. A tiny smile tugs at her lips as she brainstorms ways to pay for that lecture. She snaps back to attention when Wynonna whispers "Up ahead."

Nicole looks up, her eyes catching on a zombie stumbling out from behind a truck. It turns its blind gaze towards them, one foot dragging limply as it approaches them. Wynonna nods at them, gripping her hunting knife tightly.

She grabs the front of the zombie's shirt, effectively controlling its range of motion. She brings her knife up and yanks the zombie slightly closer before sinking the blade into its temple. The zombie slumps in her hand, its growl cut short as it dies for the second time.

Wynonna yanks her knife out of its temple and she's about to push it to the ground when a shot rings out and hits the ground in front of Wynonna, just a few centimeters from her feet.

She yelps, releasing her grip on the creature’s shirt. It falls forward while she scrambles backwards, her feet catching on each other. She almost falls, but she regains her footing at the last second. Another shot is fired and it hits a fraction closer than the last one. The bullet ricochets towards her, and Wynonna can't do anything but watch with horror.

It all happens in what seems like an instant. By the time that Waverly and Nicole have sprinted over to Wynonna, she’s on the ground clutching her leg with blood spilling from between her fingers. Nicole grabs under her arms, dragging her into cover behind the truck. She leans Wynonna against the side of the truck and kneels next to her.

“Okay, Wynonna, you need to let me look,” Nicole says, her tone firm and commanding but calm. She lays her hands over Wynonna’s, slowly pulling them away. The bullet had hit halfway up the outside of her right calf. Her jeans had torn and the ragged edges are quickly darkening with blood.

“I can’t see how bad it is,” Nicole says, casting a quick, anxious glance at Waverly. She has both of Wynonna’s hands clutched in hers. Her eyes are misty and she’s attempting a reassuring smile. She doesn’t seem to hear Nicole.

Nicole takes a deep breath and grabs the edges of the fabric. With a quick jerk, she tears the pants leg open. Blood has begun to streak down her leg in vivid rivets. It brings an image of angry brushstrokes on a canvas to Nicole’s mind and she shakes her head quickly to rid the intrusive image.

Wynonna jolts with the sudden force and one of Waverly’s hands flies to her cheek, gently stoking her bone-pale skin. Wynonna's teeth are gritted and her eyes already look glassy, which alarms Nicole.

“Nicole,” Waverly says, her tone bordering on hysterical. Nicole nods automatically, her hand shaking as she reaches for the tiny, department-issued first aid kit on her belt. She unclasps the strap, drawing the kit from its pouch.

“Okay, we’re okay. I need to clean it. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks,” she says. She almost drops the kit as she fumbles to unzip it. She takes a deep breath to steady her hands. In the academy, she had received extensive gunshot wound care. Every couple of years, everyone was required to take a recertification course. Theoretical practice is _so much_ goddamn easier.

“If this is what kills me, I’m gonna be so pissed,” Wynonna says in between panting, labored breaths. “I’m planning a blaze of glory, maybe some explosions. Not some... bullet in my leg in the middle of the street.”

“Don’t you say that,” Waverly chokes out. Tears are streaming down her face now, her breath hitches. She pushes Wynonna's hair out of her face, her own hand shaking just as much as Nicole's. "You don't get to die until you're an old, old woman at home. You don't get to leave me, Wynonna."

Nicole yanks on a pair of nitrile gloves before grabbing an alcohol wipe. She swabs away as much blood around the wound as she can, letting her get a better look at entrance trauma. "We're okay. We're okay. I think the bullet just went straight through and it lost a lot of velocity when it ricocheted. Waverly, I'm going to need you to help me."

Waverly nods quickly, turning her wild gaze towards Nicole. She tears open another alcohol pad, thrusting it into Waverly's hands. "Wipe your hands. Then I need you to take this-" she rips open another package, handing a wad of quick clot gauze to Waverly, "- and put pressure on the wound."

Waverly presses the gauze against her sister’s leg while Nicole rips the plastic covering off of a tourniquet. She nods at Waverly, who angles her arms away so Nicole has better access to Wynonna's leg. Nicole positions the straps of the tourniquet just above Wynonna’s knee.

“Okay, Earp, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker,” Nicole says. Wynonna nods, grabbing one of sister’s blood slicked hands and pulling it away from the wound. She squeezes it so tightly that Waverly can feel her bones grinding together. Nicole pulls the tourniquet's strap through the buckle, yanking it as tight as she can before pressing the Velcro together.

Wynonna grits her teeth and throws her head back, releasing an agonized groan. The tendons in her neck tighten like steel cables. Nicole’s eyes flick up to her pained face before returning to the tourniquet.

She grips the windlass and turns it until the steady stream of blood running from the hole in Wynonna’s leg slows and stops. Wynonna tries to stay strong, really, but this is the most agonizing thing she’s ever felt. 

She screams, a guttural expression of the searing pain that rips through her entire body. Her world flashes white and then fades to black, her chin drops to her chest.

"Nicole, what- is she okay?" Waverly's voice has tipped the edge from almost-hysterical to full-blown panic. Her hand flies to Wynonna's wrist to take her pulse, her mind running on overdrive to find some molecule of consolation. It's faint, fluttering unsteadily against her fingers.

"She's fine," Nicole says, turning her attention back to the wound itself, peeling the gauze away. "Tourniquets hurt like hell, but the worst part is over. Good news: the bullet missed the bone and any major arteries. She'll be fine as long as we get to the safe zone as soon as possible."

Nicole grabs the roll of medical tape and secures the gauze. She strips the gloves off and gently lifts Wynonna's chin. She gives Nicole the dirtiest look she can muster before letting her eyes slip shut again.

"I'm haunting you so hard, Haught."

"Got it." Nicole hooks one arm underneath Wynonna's knees, the other around her shoulders. She stands, grunting with the added weight. Wynonna's head lolls against Nicole's shoulder.

Nicole glances around the suddenly silent street. She looks back at Waverly, her jaw clenched tightly and her voice low and gravelly. "I need you to take my gun, Waverly. Be ready for anything, okay?"

Waverly nods quickly, reaching to Nicole's hip to unsnap the holster and draw the gun out. She switches the safety off immediately, her hands tight around the textured grip.

They step out from behind the cover of the truck. They had already spent too much time here, they had been far too loud. Plus, there's a goddamn active shooter that doesn't seem to care that they're not walking corpses.

Nicole’s blood runs cold when a group of men step out from behind a semi-truck laying tipped on its side. She immediately does a visual sweep of the area, the calculating nature that her years on the force had created overpowering her instinctual panic. The truck sits in front of an unassuming hotel, but as Nicole looks up at it, she realizes that it's the perfect position for those shots to have come from.

The men- seven of them- are each holding guns. Most of them are just handguns, although one man with shaggy black hair and an unkempt beard holds a rifle. That must be the bastard that shot Wynonna.

Nicole freezes, every muscle in her body tensing. Waverly is just a step behind her, and she raises the gun slightly as she takes in the sight before them.

"Get the little one first," one man says. His hair is slicked back, greasy, and he's dressed in a filthy white button-up tucked into a pair of too-long dress pants. "Bitch has a gun."

The man waves his handgun in the air lazily and the other six walk towards them. Nicole takes a step backward, her mind racing to find a way out of this situation. The academy and her decade and a half of experience on the force hadn't taught her how to deal with a group of murderous men during the zombie apocalypse.

Waverly raises the gun with shaking hands, sweeping it between the group approaching them steadily. Nicole shakes her head, trying to dissuade Waverly. She doesn't notice, though, and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet whizzes past one of the men and hits a car a few feet beyond them. Waverly yelps as the gun bucks in her hand. Of the three Earp girls, she was never the best shot.

Nicole squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and turns. She nods at Waverly and they begin to sprint the other way. Nicole, weighed down by her pack and Wynonna, lags behind Waverly. Through the rush of blood in her eardrums, she can hear pounding footsteps behind them. 

Then, there are arms around her waist and she can't breathe as she's slammed to the asphalt. Her head bounces off of the ground and everything immediately explodes into stars. Between the sudden lack of vision and the rough hand shoving her head into the ground, she can't see where Wynonna landed. 

She can feel her pack being ripped from her shoulders, then a zip-tie being secured around her wrists before she's hauled roughly to her feet. A trickle of warm blood slowly streams down her face and she's so dizzy that she's certain she would fall down if that man wasn't yanking her along. 

She can hear Waverly yelling dimly, but the blow to her head is making everything sound like it's underwater. The temperature suddenly changes and Nicole lifts her lead-weighted head to see that she's been pulled into the hotel. Goosebumps raise on her exposed flesh.

A moment later, Nicole is shoved to the ground. She slumps there, closing her eyes to help the world stop swimming. She tries to ground herself with the feeling of rough carpet under her arm and the chill in the air.

Soon, Nicole feels a tiny bit better. She’s praying that this is just some momentary unsteadiness, not a full-on concussion. She struggles to sit up and takes a moment to let the nausea pass before opening her eyes.

As soon as she does, Waverly is brought into the room kicking and screaming. She’s held by a giant of a man, and she’s also zip tie handcuffed. A rag has been stuffed into her mouth and tied behind her head, muffling her angry screaming. He shoves Waverly, sending her tiny body sprawling onto the ground in front of Nicole’s feet.

They’re followed closely by another man holding Wynonna. He sets her on the ground across from Nicole, being far more gentle than the other men had been. Still, she groans when she's set down. 

"Two hours," Nicole mumbles, hoping that the man will hear it. His back is already turned, though, and he doesn't offer Nicole a second glance before leaving the room. He slams the door behind him. "She can only have that tourniquet on for two hours," Nicole finishes, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Waverly squirms to right herself, first flipping onto her back and then sitting up. She gets her feet under her and stands up. Nicole watches through semi-blurred vision as Waverly twists her wrists to move the zip tie. As soon as the locking head is between her wrists, she raises her arms as high as she can and slams them back down onto her hips.

She grunts as her hands hit her waist. Nothing happens. Waverly raises her arms again, bringing them down with as much force as she can muster. This time, the tie snaps with a loud pop.

Waverly tears the rag from her mouth, throwing it down on the ground with a huff. “These guys are the most incompetent kidnappers ever,” she says, rage evident in her voice. “Do they really not know how easy zip ties are to get out of?”

Nicole hums in a vague response. She's escaped from plenty of zip ties before, but her head is spinning too much to even consider it. Waverly, distracted from her anger, kneels down next to her. She places her hand on Nicole’s chin gently, turning her head to look at the cuts on the side of her face. Her eyebrow had split open and poured blood down her eyelid and cheek. There’s another cut on her temple and a third on her cheekbone.

Waverly gently prods the cut on Nicole’s cheekbone, causing her to wince and squeeze her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” Waverly whispers, glancing around for anything she can use to wipe away the blood.

They’re in a tiny room, with a metal shelving unit containing various cleaning supplies and a housekeeper’s cart shoved in the corner. The room is barely big enough for the three of them. Nicole's long, outstretched legs almost reach the other side of the room.

Waverly moves to the cart, searching for a cloth. She finds one that looks clean and kneels back in front of Nicole. She wipes away as much blood as she can, gently gripping Nicole’s chin as she does.

“Okay, Nicole. Okay. We’re gonna get out of here and we’re gonna get you and Wynonna safe and checked out, okay? We're getting out of here.” Waverly is aware that she's nervously repeating herself, but she hopes that the more she says it the truer it'll become.

Nicole nods, trying to force her eyes to focus on Waverly though the dim light and the blur that still hasn’t gone away. Waverly tucks a loose strand of red hair behind Nicole’s ear, giving her a teary smile.

“Better check on Wynonna,” Nicole says, her gaze drawn to the other woman as she releases another pained whimper. Waverly immediately moves over to her sister, her hands gently pressing the flesh around the bandages.

Wynonna hisses, jerking her leg away from the touch. "You said that the tourniquet can only be on for two hours?" Waverly asks, turning back to Nicole. She nods. "So we get out of here and to the base in two hours. Got it."

Wynonna lets out a weak snort, opening her eyes for the first time since they'd been thrown into the room. "Baby girl, we've pulled off some whacky shit, but that would be next level." Her voice is hoarse and quiet, tinged with pain. Still, she can't help but make one of her signature snarky remarks.

"We can do it," Nicole says, pushing herself up to sit straighter. She grunts, one shaking hand pressing against her tender side. "Long as those assholes don't kill us on the way."

Waverly sinks into a sitting position, holding her head in her hands. The desperate reality of the situation is finally beginning to sink in and Waverly feels sick to her stomach. "Oh my god. Just look at the two of you! Oh, this is bad..."

The other two women make eye contact and Nicole shakes her head slightly. Wynonna sighs, nudging her sister with her unharmed leg. “We aren’t dying here, Waverly. The Earps are too damn stubborn for that. And Red Haught over there is gonna survive by sheer annoying force of will.”

Nicole doesn’t have a chance to be annoyed at Wynonna’s comment, because just then, they hear a voice coming from just behind the door.

“You’re not supposed to shoot them, you goddamn imbecile! They aren’t any good to us if they bleed out on my fucking floor."

Waverly scrambles to grab the zip tie and the bloodied towel, throwing them into the dim corner behind the housekeeper's cart. She sits next to Wynonna, crossing her hands behind her back as if they're still bound.

The door begins to creak open and Waverly's eyes widen as they catch on the rag previously stuffed in her mouth. She leans forward and snatches it, shoving it back in her mouth and crossing her arms again as the door opens.

The greasy man from before steps into the room, running a hand through his slick hair. He smiles and Waverly supposes that it's intended to be charming, but it just feels as dirty as the rest of him. 

Waverly shifts slightly, angling her body so her back is tilted into Wynonna's side. She hopes that it'll help hide her unbound hands. The man kneels in front of her, dragging his roughly calloused thumb down her cheek. Waverly jerks back, yelling muffled obscenities at him.

"Oh, you're certainly a spirited one," he says. He chuckles, a low and grating sound. He runs his hand through Waverly's hair, a low hum vibrating in his chest. Waverly kicks and one foot connects with the man's chest. He wheezes at the impact, but his self-satisfied smile doesn't leave his face.

"I like the spirited ones. You'll do us good. I'm not so sure about the one Marty shot... but you and the ginger cop will do us good."

He drags his hand against Waverly's cheek once more, then grabs a piece of the fabric shoved into her mouth. He yanks and Waverly gasps in a breath.

"You goddamn bastard! What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you? Nicole can- can arrest you!"

The man laughs again, this time a full-bellied, howling cackle. "Oh you sweet, naïve girl. The law couldn't matter less right now. Just look around you. I am the law, little girl."

Wynonna scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Listen to this prick. Haught, I take it back. I'm gonna haunt him when I die."

The man stands, casting a pitying look down at Wynonna. "Glad to hear it, sweetheart. Hurry up and get to the dying part of that." He walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "I'll be back for you soon, little one."

As soon as he's gone, Waverly is back up and searching for something sharp. She rifles through the housekeeper's cart, throwing hand towels and tiny bottles of shampoo aside.

"Waverly," Nicole says, her voice sounding more alert than before. "What are you looking for?"

"We need to cut the zip ties and Wynonna dropped her knife and I don't have anything and-"

"I have a utility knife in my belt," Nicole says, cutting Waverly's hurried rant off.

"Oh," Waverly says, falling still for a few long seconds before sparking back into her usual whirlwind of action. She kneels in front of Nicole, her hands hovering above Nicole's utility belt.

"Left side, tall, thin pocket." Waverly finds and unsnaps the pocket. She pulls out the knife and slides the blade up. Nicole scoots away from the wall far enough for Waverly to have access to her wrists. She braces the blade against the plastic and begins sawing. After a moment, the zip tie snaps and Nicole gasps.

She brings her arms forward with a soft groan, then rubs at the angry red marks on her wrists. Waverly gives her a tight-lipped smile before moving to repeat the process on her sister.

Nicole stands and sways on unsteady feet. She braces one hand against the wall and hisses in a breath. "Okay," she murmurs to herself before straightening to her full height. "Waverly, how much did you see when they brought us in?"

Waverly slides the blade back down on the utility knife, holding it out for Nicole. The officer takes it and returns it to its pocket. "Not much. I know that we're not far past the lobby, though. The rest was too dark to really see."

"That's a start, at least," Nicole says. "Did you see anyone else apart from the seven that attacked us?"

Waverly sighs and shakes her head. "I was doing a bit too much kicking and screaming." Her expression is an odd mix between pride and regret. "Mama Earp was a big believer in kicking and screaming when strange men grab you."

Nicole nods, her eyebrows furrowing. She quickly drops the expression when the cut in her eyebrow stings sharply as it’s pulled taught. “Your mom sounds like an interesting lady.”

“Oh, you can say that again,” Wynonna says with a chuckle. “She was all fire. Booze and guns from daddy and crazy from mama."

"Wait, Wynonna," Waverly says, her eyes growing wide. Her head snaps back to her sister as a grin grows on her face. "That's exactly what we need. Guns and crazy."

"I think we probably have the crazy part down," Nicole says, finally pushing herself away from the wall as she feels steady enough. "But I'm not sure about the gun part. We lost mine, remember?"

"Oh, Haught Cheeto, we certainly did lose your toy gun. But I still have mine." Wynonna grins- although it looks more like a grimace- and pats the side of her leather jacket. "Waverly is right. These guys are the most incompetent assholes in the world. They didn't even pat me down."

As Wynonna pushes her jacket away from her side, Nicole remembers that she thought it was odd that she had kept the heavy leather on despite the heat. Now, though, she thinks that it might be their saving grace.

Wynonna’s holster sits high on her hip. It’s perfectly covered by her jacket, hiding the completely ridiculous Buntline Special that supposedly belonged to Wyatt Earp himself. Of course, when Waverly did her research project, she learned that the gun in question was made many decades after Wyatt died. She kept that tidbit to herself, not wanting to disappoint her sisters by ruining the magic.

"Okay, so we have a gun. And you have a gunshot wound and I'm pretty sure I have a concussion. There are at least seven men out there who have already shown that they will not hesitate to harm us. Where do we go from there?"

"That's where the crazy comes in," Waverly says. Wynonna nods at her and Waverly leans down to pull the revolver out of its holster. They seem to be on some sort of sibling wavelength that leaves Nicole out of the loop and confused. 

"Hostage," Waverly continues. "The greaseball seems to be in charge. Next time he comes back, we grab him."

"And what do then? Just... walk out?" Nicole gestures vaguely towards the door, trying her best to keep her eyebrows from pulling together in that little worry wrinkle. 

"Preferably," Wynonna says, shrugging. "But we can probably take them on." She raises one hand, holding her pointer finger and thumb up and mimes shooting.

Nicole stares at Wynonna for a long moment, certain that the elder Earp is joking. There's nothing but sincerity in her eyes, though. Well, sincerity and pain.

"That's probably a bad idea, actually," Waverly says, cutting off the awkward silence that had fallen. "There are at least seven of them and uh... one and a half of us? We should probably just force them to leave."

"So are Haught and I each a quarter or is one of us the half?"

"How can we be sure that they don't come after us?" Nicole asks, shooting a glare over at Wynonna. She rolls her eyes, mouthing _it's an important question_.

"We can't be certain that they won't. But we're close enough to the base that we can get there before they catch up. I hope."

Nicole is anything but convinced. Wynonna can't move without help and her own head still pounds with a vengeance. They have no idea how many people are actually hidden away in the hotel, and they only have one gun. It's a longer shot than the gates to heaven opening up in front of them, but it’s the only plan they have.

"Yeah, sure."

Wynonna blinks rapidly, her eyebrows furrowing in surprise and confusion. "Uh, did you just agree? I thought it was gonna take a lot more than that."

Nicole shrugs. "I would rather do something and die than do nothing and die. Anything else in here we can use?"

Waverly, now with the gun gripped tightly in her hand, glances around the room again. "Unless you wanna throw bleach at him or something... I don't think so."

"Oh, wait," Nicole mumbles, the bleach comment sparking a realization. Her belt- that hadn't been taken from her, because these kidnappers really do suck- comes stocked with some of the strongest pepper spray on the market. She unsnaps the pocket, grabbing the canister.

"Oh hell yeah. Haughty came to play," Wynonna says with a chuckle. She shifts slightly, groaning when her leg jostles with the movement. Nicole shuffles her way over to Wynonna and slowly lowers herself to one knee in front of her, grunting softly.

"I'm not gonna say yes, Haught. The only dinner you've bought me is Chef Boyardee. And you stole that!"

Nicole sighs, closing her eyes for a long moment to refrain from countering Wynonna's stupid shit with some especially nasty retort. When she opens her eyes, Wynonna is sporting that grin that Nicole knows all too well by now.

“You’re really not my type, Wynonna,” Nicole says, deciding that it’s the right amount of sass. “Just looking at the bullet wound.” 

The bandage is still fairly clean, thankfully. The tourniquet and the clotting gauze are doing their jobs effectively. They still have some time- not much, but hopefully enough to get out of here. 

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah. And as long as your plan works, she's gonna stay that way," Nicole responds. She pushes herself back to her feet, encouraged at the lack of head-spinning pain as she does so.

They don't have to wait much longer to put their plan into motion. They hear footsteps from beyond the door and Waverly is standing with her back pressed against the wall in a flash.

The door creaks open, the sound seemingly amplified in the suddenly dead-silent room. Waverly points the Buntline, pulling the hammer back with a loud click.

"What the _fuck_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... that happened. The Earp gang is pretty much the definition of Murphy's Law, huh?  
> I tried to be as medically accurate as possible for this. My search history might land me on a watchlist somewhere.   
> On a different note: Today (October 11) was the first day of snow for the year. Gotta love Montana. The hall's heaters are still broken. I'm freezing.  
> Anyway, thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed and I hope everyone has a good day. I'll see you next week.


	7. Tell Me What Our Future Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new acquaintance and a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence, blood, mentions of drug abuse, a vague reference to sexual assult

Waverly pulls a woman into the room. A woman with dark hair pulled into a high ponytail and fire blazing in her dark, almost black eyes. The exact opposite of who they were expecting, really.

Waverly shuts the door with too much force, cringing at the slam it creates. She recovers quickly, though, pressing the barrel of the gun to the woman's temple. She holds her hands up in an obviously placating gesture, although she looks angry enough to stop an elephant in its tracks.

"No, seriously, what the fuck?" The woman asks again, her eyes flicking between all three women. Finally, she lands on Waverly and the gun in her hand.

"You need to... to let us go," Waverly says, her voice and her resolve wavering. Her eyes flick towards Nicole, who looks just as unsure and stunned as she feels.

"What do you think I'm trying to do, you _culera_?" the woman snaps, reaching up and shoving the gun away from her temple. Waverly is too confused to do anything but lower the gun fully.

Nicole is the first one to react. She takes a few hesitant, careful steps towards the two women, stopping an arm's length away. "What do you mean?"

"I want to help you. Keep up, String Bean." The woman huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She's wearing a blush pink tank top and black shorts, complete with tall boots clinging tightly to her calves.

"But you're with them," Waverly says, snapping to her senses. She raises the gun again, her finger inching closer to the trigger. The woman gives her a sidelong glance, huffing impatiently. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"And what's in it for you to help our sorry asses?" Wynonna cuts in, scoffing incredulously. She gestures around the room, trying to indicate their rather desperate circumstances. "We aren't exactly the perfect picture of survivors right now."

  
"I'm with them because my asshole ex-boyfriend and his druggie pals kidnapped me. As soon as the biters started walking, they decided that they would corner the apocalyptic drug market. Who better to make those drugs than a PhD chemist? That's also why you can trust me: I want out of here just as bad as you do, but I don't think I can do it alone."

The three other women in the room exchange confused glances. Nicole sighs after watching the Earps shrug and gesture at each other for a moment. "You promise you're not actually just using us as zombie bait?"

The woman narrows her eyes, her upper lip curls in something almost approaching disgust. "The fuck is a zombie?"

"Oh, uh- it's kind of a whole thing. We'll tell you if we get out of this. It's just what we call the monsters."

The woman holds her hand out to Nicole then. "Fine. I'm not using you for zombie bait."

Nicole takes her hand, shaking it firmly. When she lets go, that bright, dimpled smile has spread on her lips. "Well then, I'm Deputy Nicole Haught. That's Waverly Earp-" she points to the woman in question, who gives a tiny wave and a tight-lipped smile, "- and that's Wynonna Earp."

"Cool. Rosita Bustillos. So, we need to talk about a plan. You guys already got yourselves free." She looks pleased at this, nodding as she surveys the scene in front of her. "And you have a gun, so that's a start."

"Yeah, what's up with that? Are these douche buckets just too dumb to function? They didn't take Peacemaker and they didn't take Copper's Batman belt."

"Too high to function, mostly. Although most of them are also dumbasses," Rosita says, managing a half-smile in Wynonna's direction. Wynonna quirks one eyebrow, still not quite trusting the newcomer. "Anyway," she continues, "there are eight of them. They aren't going to let any of us go easy."

"Eight," Nicole says, her lips pursed tightly. "There were seven of them out there."

"One of the seven has a twin sister," Rosita says. "Hetty. I don't know how into this whole thing she is, though. I'm hoping that I can talk to her and see if she's willing to help us."

"Can you explain what this whole thing is?" Waverly cuts in, her voice a bit higher than normal. Her arms are crossed tightly, her hands are balled into fists. There's a vein in her temple that's popping, and Nicole is slightly alarmed. Despite the short amount of time that she's known Waverly, this anger seems unlike her.

Rosita sighs, her gaze dropping to the ground. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and as Nicole looks back over to Waverly, she notices that the vein in her temple has only become more prominent. "Okay," Rosita says after her moment of silence. "Like I said, they want to be the drug kingpins of the apocalypse. But that isn't the only thing that people are going to want. And there are a lot of people who would trade almost anything to get what they want."

No one says anything. Rosita gnaws on her lower lip, watching everyone's reactions closely. "A lot of people have come down this way trying to get to the base. And a lot of those people are pretty women, and they took that as an opportunity. They've been planning on taking women and..."Rosita trails off, hoping that the other women understand without having to go into further detail. Nicole's hand clenches around the canister of pepper spray as she turns to face the wall. She raises her other hand to her face, covering her mouth.

Behind her, she can dimly hear Waverly's voice, running a mile a minute in an outraged, insistent tone. She hears Wynonna next, her voice growing ever hoarser. It's probably still some ridiculous quip, though. 

Blood is rushing in her ears, though. She can't focus on anything that her friends are saying, she can't stop her mind from spiraling into the terrible depths of Rosita's implication.  
She turns back around, her jaw tight and her eyes full of fire. Rosita is saying something, gesturing wildly with her hands, but Nicole doesn't register it. "We need to kill them," Nicole says. 

Wynonna's earlier comment about taking them on had seemed completely ridiculous. There was no hope in hell that they could kill all- or, probably, any- of them without getting killed themselves. But now they have Rosita and maybe the other woman she mentioned. And now that she knows what these assholes are really planning to do, she doesn't think that they have a choice.

The room is stunned into silence again. Everyone turns towards her, and no one is without an expression of shock. Waverly is the first to move. She lays her hand over Nicole's clenched fist. She runs her thumb across Nicole's knuckles, hoping that the contact would provide some sort of comfort. 

"Nicole, I... I don't know if that's the answer." Her voice is purposefully calm and neutral, devoid of any emotion she may be feeling.

"I think it's the only answer," Nicole says. Her own voice is quiet; it shakes with fear and disgust. "If we don't stop them, there's no telling what they'll do. How many women they'll hurt."

"I think Nicole is right, baby girl," Wynonna says, her eyes cast down to the floor. Her fingers fiddle with the torn edge of her pant leg, stained a deep red with the drying blood. "Look what they've already done to us. We can't let them do this to anyone else."

Every muscle in Waverly's body tenses, but she keeps her hand on Nicole's and tries to keep any fear out of her expression. It feels drastic. Despite everything, Waverly still wants to believe that their life can return to normal. She still wants to believe that her life isn't forever changed. She doesn't want to think that the right answer is killing these men.

But she can't convince herself. They shot her sister, and she doesn't doubt that they'll be the first people they target. "Okay," she says with a sigh. "How are we going to do this?"

Rosita is about to launch into her plan when they, again, hear footsteps from behind the door. "Get down!" Rosita hisses. Nicole jerks back, taking frantic steps until her back hits the wall. She sinks down, fumbling to shove her pepper spray back into its pocket before crossing her hands behind her back.

Waverly, with Peacemaker in her hand, also sinks down to the ground. Her hands flutter about uncertainly as her mind races to find somewhere to hide the gun. Wynonna huffs after a few seconds of watching her sister. She grabs the gun and jams it back into the holster, yanking her jacket to cover it again.

By the time the greaseball enters the room again, the three women are back in their positions, looking for all the world as if they're still bound and incapacitated. He has that smarmy smile on his face again, but it falters when he sees Rosita standing in the middle of the room.

"Rosita, dear, what are you doing here?" He asks. There's an unmistakable current of malice in his voice running underneath the saccharine overtone. He looks between all four women with one eyebrow raised.

"I was just coming to grab some bleach," she says quickly, striding over to the metal shelves and grabbing a jug of bleach. "I need to sterilize everything. You know that."

The man steps close to Rosita, gripping her shoulder tightly. "And you had to come to this closet? Instead of any other supply closet in the entire damn hotel?"

Rosita's eyes grow wide and she leans away from his touch. His grip only grows tighter, though, his knuckles growing white with the force. "Jack, please. I didn't know that they were down here. I was just going to grab the bleach and go."

He leans close, his nose almost touching hers. "I don't think I believe you, Rosie. I think you were trying to help our new friends escape. Isn't that right, darling?"

Rosita has her hands on his chest, pushing against him. He doesn't budge, though, and his grip only tightens further. "Jack, please, let me go."

"This isn't going to be without consequences, Rosita," he snarls. His mouth opens again, but his words are lost in the frothy blood that bubbles up his throat. His grip slackens and his eyes grow wide.

His lips, stained red, twitch in a futile attempt to form words. He slumps, falling forward to his knees. Blood spills from the gash in his throat, drenching his white shirt. His face grows increasingly pale as the blood seeps through the fabric.

Nicole stands over him, her utility knife clutched in her shaking, bloody hand. Jack falls forward and a puddle of blood forms underneath him.

"You always listen to the woman, slime bag," Wynonna says, chuckling dryly. The other women ignore her, though, and Waverly is standing at Nicole's side in an instant.

Waverly places her hand on Nicole's arm, although she doesn't seem to register the touch. Waverly eases the knife out of Nicole's hand. She hands it off to Rosita, who is still staring down at Jack's body.

Waverly reaches up, cupping Nicole's cheeks in her hands. Her eyes are blank, staring somewhere past Waverly and everything else. "Hey, Nicole, can you look at me?" A beat, and Nicole doesn't respond, doesn't move.

Waverly keeps one hand on Nicole's cheek while the other slides down to her neck. She pats her cheek softly. The action makes her blink, some spark of recognition comes back into her eyes. "Hey, hey, Nicole. I'm here. You're okay."

Nicole's eyes drift towards Waverly's until they meet. She nods, her head moving just a fraction. Waverly smiles, giving her an encouraging nod. "There you are," she whispers. She can hear movement behind her, but she's too wrapped up in Nicole and her disconcerting state of shock to care about it.

Then there's a deafening bang and Nicole gasps, tripping over her feet as she scrambles backwards. She lands hard but continues scrabbling backwards until her back hits the door. Waverly, too, jumps backwards at the sound. Her hands fly up to cover her ears, although it's too late to avoid the harsh ringing in her ears.

Rosita stands over Jack's body, his pistol held loosely in her hand. Wynonna winces, that all-too familiar ringing in her ears returning for the second time in far too few days. Her mind flashes images of Willa, of her revolver pressed against her sister’s flesh and firing, and firing, and firing.

Rosita pulls her leg back and delivers a strong kick into the man’s shoulder, her lips curled in unmistakable disgust. She looks up, her eyes catching on the other women in the room. Nicole sits with her knees pulled up to her chest and her hands covering her ears. Waverly has lowered her own hands, but she's staring at Rosita with her mouth agape. Wynonna, too, is staring at her.

"What?" She asks, spreading her arms and half-shrugging. "If I didn't put a bullet in the bastard's brain, he'd be up and eating us by now."

"Everyone else heard that!" Waverly says, throwing her own arms wide. "How exactly do you expect us to get out of this?" As if on cue, someone begins to pound on the door. Nicole yelps, lurching forward as one of the men rams his shoulder into the door. It half-opens, only stopped by Nicole's weight against it.

She scrambles to her feet and as far away from the door as she can, placing her by Waverly's side. Rosita raises the pistol again when the giant man that had thrown Waverly into the room enters. He holds a shotgun braced against his shoulder, and he wears a sneer on his face.

"Rosita, you little bitch," he snarls. "Always knew that you'd go and do some stupid shit that'll get you killed."

"Turns out that you were the stupid shit," Rosita says. She pulls the pistol's hammer back, taking a half-step closer to him.

He takes his own step forward, waving his shotgun for effect. "You try to shoot me, girl, and you'll get a hole in your head bigger than that ego a' yours. I don't care that you killed Jack. Man was a piece a' shit. Just means that I get to be in charge now."

He grins, striding closer to Rosita. He presses the shotgun into Rosita's chest, pushing slightly. "You did me a service, darling. As long as you behave, I ain't gonna do anything to you."

Rosita glances towards Waverly and Nicole, hoping that they have another trick up their sleeves to get her out of this situation. Which, she does have to admit, is her own damn fault. They're pressed close together, with Nicole pressing a protective arm across Waverly's chest as if she's trying to shield her even though she's trembling like a leaf. Waverly's hands are wrapped around her arm, keeping her close. 

When neither of them move, her gaze turns to Wynonna. The man- one of Rosita's most unfortunate exes, Jim- has walked far enough into the room that his back is turned towards her. Wynonna notices this too, and she nods when their eyes meet.

Wynonna draws Peacemaker as Rosita turns her attention back towards the man. She changes her approach, leaning down to set the gun on the floor by her feet. Jim's grip on the shotgun tightens at first, but he relaxes as Rosita stands straight and places her hand gently on his chest.

"I think I can behave... I do like a man in charge," she says, giving him a flirtatious smile that doesn't quite reflect in her eyes. Jim's leering grin returns and he lets one hand drop from the shotgun, placing it on Rosita's upper arm.

He chuckles as his eyes roam down Rosita's body leisurely. They land on her chest and the skin exposed by her low-cut tank top. His hand is about to move when a second shot explodes into the room.

His expression morphs into one of surprise and then terror in just a few milliseconds. His hand falls slack, as does the rest of his body. His considerable frame falls to the side and his head strikes the wall with a sick crack.

Wynonna lowers Peacemaker with a self-satisfied smirk. Unlike Waverly, she had really taken to their daddy's shooting lessons. Even with her awkward angle and the distracting pain throbbing through her body, the shot wasn't difficult. It certainly helped that he's the size of a house, creating a target that's almost impossible to hit.

Rosita smiles at Wynonna, who smirks and nods back at her. She reaches down to pick the pistol back up. At the same time, she picks up the shotgun and holds it out to Waverly and Nicole. They're still clinging to each other, both with wide eyes and concerned faces.

Nicole reaches out with the hand that isn't crossed over Waverly's chest and takes the shotgun. She and Waverly exchange a glance before untangling themselves from each other.

"Well, ladies, strap in. Two down, five to go," Rosita says, turning towards the door.

"Or six," Waverly mumbles. She steps forward, holding her hand out towards Wynonna. She flips Peacemaker, offering it to her sister handle-first. She takes it with a reassuring smile. "Sit tight, Wy. We'll be back in a flash."

"If you're not, I'm haunting you," Wynonna says, winking and clicking her tongue. She leans her head against the wall, watching as the three women march out of the room with their weapons raised.

By the time they exit, the troop of men is running down the stairs in the lobby, fumbling with their own weapons. Waverly, with all the rage packed in her tiny body, storms forward with Peacemaker trained at the man who shot her sister.

She shoots, and the bullet catches him in the neck. He drops, blood spraying from his neck in a spurting arc. Next to her, Nicole pumps the shotgun and squeezes the trigger. She's far enough away, though, that the blast catches some of the men but doesn't cause any significant damage.

After the initial shock of the rather sudden attack, the men recover and return fire. Bullets whiz around them; Waverly is almost certain that one just misses her own neck. Her next shot misses.

Rosita fires twice in quick succession, hitting one man in his stomach, another in his shoulder. Nicole fires again, the shotgun bucking painfully against her shoulder as she does so.

The one that Rosita shot in the stomach falls, clutching at the wound. Waverly takes aim and shoots him again, putting him down for good with a shot between the eyebrows.

The other drops his gun, yelling in pain as the bullet rips through his flesh. A fire burns in his eyes as he looks up at the women. He charges, lowering his other shoulder to act as a sort of battering ram.

He catches Nicole in the stomach, winding her and knocking both of them to the ground in a sprawling heap. He lands on top, gritting his teeth through the pain as he pushes himself up. Nicole reaches out, groping wildly for the shotgun that had been knocked out of her hands.

She finds it, wrapping her hand around it firmly. The man, though, hauls back and punches her in the jaw. She can feel her lip split and the sharp, metallic sensation of blood fills her mouth. He hits her again, catching her in the temple. The cut splits back open and Nicole's vision bursts into stars again.

Nicole shakes her head, causing the man's next punch to slip. He grazes her cheek, but he's still thrown off. Sensing an opportunity, Nicole spits her mouthful of blood into his face. He recoils, exclaiming in disgust. She takes the chance and swings the shotgun into place, pressing it against his chin.

She fires, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid watching the spray of bloody mist exploding from the blast. The shotgun kicks back, slamming into her shoulder. She shoves the body off of her, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder as she does so. 

As Nicole pushes herself to her feet, she takes a second to survey the scene. The remaining two men are still shooting, but one goes down as Waverly and Rosita both shoot at him.

Rosita turns her gun to the last man. She squeezes the trigger, but every muscle in her body freezes when she's greeted with a hollow click. The man fires, his face contorted into a hateful snarl.

Rosita screams as the bullet clips her arm, sending a spray of blood flying. "Oh, you bastard!" Waverly yells, firing the last few bullets in the Buntline in quick succession.

He goes down with a bullet entering one temple and exiting the other. The three women are left, panting and bloodstained. Waverly and Nicole both rush to Rosita's side. She's already inspecting the wound on her arm, but, thankfully, it doesn't seem very serious.

There's a thin stream of blood running down her arm, but the bullet barely nicked her. It mostly served to piss her off. "I didn't see Hetty anywhere," Rosita says, diverting the other two away from their mothering.

“Maybe she got out?” Nicole suggests, shrugging. As soon as the fight had started, she forgot all about Hetty. The adrenaline is already waning, leaving her with a full-body ache and heavy limbs.

“She wouldn’t leave her brother,” Rosita sighs, gesturing over at one of the bodies on the floor. Nicole hesitantly steps forward, staring down at the bodies. She realizes that, in the confusion and hail of bullets, they might have missed a few headshots.

She kicks at the bodies lightly, breathing a sigh of relief when the first few don't jump up and bite her. She approaches the first one that went down, the one who shot Wynonna, and jumps as his hand twitches.

Nicole levels the shotgun, sending a shot into his head as his eyes, now milky and empty, fly open. She sighs, letting the gun hang limply in one hand. 

Just as the women are about to turn away to collect Wynonna, they hear a door creaking open. They all whirl back around, pointing their guns despite two of the three being empty.

A blonde haired woman with tear streaks running down her cheeks stands in the doorway behind the lobby desk. Her shoulders are slumped, she looks like she's trying to fold in on herself.

"You killed them," she says, her voice cracking. “All of them.”

Rosita lowers her gun, motioning for the others to do the same. “Hetty, I’m so sorry. You know what they were doing. We had to.”

Hetty shakes her head, tears springing in her eyes again. "He was all I had, Rosita. You know that."

Rosita closes the gap, walking around the desk with a hand stretched out. Hetty recoils from the touch. "I know, and I am sorry. But they were going to hurt so many people."

"You hurt them!" Hetty snaps, her eyes growing wild. "We- we protected you, and we were going to keep protecting you! And you just... you killed them."

"They weren't protecting me," Rosita snaps back, her tone growing exasperated as she throws her hands into the air. "They literally kidnapped me and they were going to force me to cook drugs for them."

"Just... just go, Rosita. All of their shit is in there," she says, pointing towards the door she had come from. "There's a truck in the back alley. Keys are on the desk." Hetty sinks down onto the ground, holding her head in her hands as she sobs quietly.

Rosita waves the other two on with her. They hesitantly follow her. Their gear is thrown haphazardly into the corner. Nicole hefts her pack onto her shoulders, wincing as the strap presses on her shoulder where a bruise is quickly forming.

Waverly smiles almost maniacally as she grabs her club, running her fingers gently over the well-worn and smooth wood. She slings her drawstring bag onto her back and picks up Wynonna's backpack.

She tosses it to Rosita, who catches it and puts it on. She watches Waverly handling the club with a pinched look on her face. "You guys are weird as fuck."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Nicole mumbles, pulling open drawer after drawer to see what she can find. She pulls out a box of shotgun shells, shaking it to hear the clink of bullets against each other. She hands it to Waverly, who wordlessly stuffs it into her bag.

In the next drawer, Nicole finds the hunting knife that Wynonna carries around. She smiles, running her fingers over the chink in the metal. She holds it up for Waverly to see, and her face breaks into a similar grin. 

"Wynonna will be thrilled. That was our daddy's knife," she says, taking it from Nicole when she offers it up.

Rosita grabs the truck keys from the counter, jangling them to get the other's attention. "Let's go grab your sister."

Hetty is still sitting against the desk, staring into space distantly. She doesn't react when the women exit the room. They skirt around her, all sending her sympathetic and worried glances.

They make the short trek down the hallway and back into the storage room. Wynonna looks up, terror lurking behind her eyes. When she sees her sister and her friends, her face crumples into relief. 

"Oh, thank god. I heard... I heard a lot of shots and screaming and I didn't know who it was coming from." She leans her head against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. "You're never leaving my side again, Waverly."

"I don't plan on it," she says, kneeling down next to her sister. "Get ready. We're gonna move you."  
Wynonna nods, keeping her eyes closed as Waverly hooks her arm underneath her sister's. Nicole does the same on the other side. They haul her up, grunting with the effort. Wynonna grits her teeth, determined not to cry out this time.

She leans heavily on Waverly, keeping as much weight as physically possible off of her leg. Nicole is glad that she isn't bearing the brunt of her weight, as her head has begun to spin again. She pauses for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to try to steady herself.

Rosita leads them though the hotel and out the back door. A few feet away, a black truck sits at a haphazard angle. Rosita unlocks it and pulls the backdoor open. Nicole and Waverly help Wynonna into the back. Her leg jostles as they lift her, eliciting a pained moan.

Waverly clambers into the back with her sister, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to comfort her. Nicole hauls herself into the passenger seat, trying to hide the fact that she's panting with the exertion. She leans her head against the window, letting every stab and ache of pain wash over her body.

Rosita turns the key in the ignition, smiling triumphantly when the engine roars to life. Nicole's mind briefly flashes through a protest at the noise, but she's too exhausted to care. They'd already made far too much noise in the firefight, anyway.

Rosita backs out of the alley, not wanting to try the main road. The tangle of cars is far too thick to even entertain the idea of driving down that way. The side road is relatively clear, and Rosita guns it as soon as they're clear of the alley.

"So, you gonna explain everything?" Rosita asks, adjusting the mirror so she can look back on the Earps.

"I'm a head researcher for the University," Waverly says, preparing herself to launch into the whole sordid ordeal. "And as soon as I started to hear the emergency broadcasts, I realized that I recognized something. So I dug up everything I could."

Waverly pauses, her eyes flitting about the street outside. Zombies follow them listlessly, their hands stretched out in a half-hearted attempt to attack. For the most part, they seem to grow disinterested as soon as they get a few blocks away from them.

"And I learned that this isn't a new disease. For centuries, people have been documenting a disease that kills people and makes them come back as dead, cannibalistic monsters. And I also learned that everyone who comes in contact with a monster is infected." Waverly, aware that this is probably going to be the worst revelation of Rosita's day, is quick to follow up. "Not that the disease kills you. When you die, independent of the disease, it reanimates you."

Rosita is silent, but she pushes the gas pedal harder, causing the truck to lurch forward. Waverly decides to continue. "I don't know if there's a cure, I don't know how it starts. I just know that we all have it." Her voice is quiet, shaking slightly.

"Well, that fucking sucks," Rosita says after a moment. She's silent for the rest of the drive, weaving in and out of abandoned cars. 

Nicole sighs, letting her eyes fall shut. She feels disgusting. Her face is covered with a mist of blood, there isn't a single part of her body that doesn't hurt. 

She isn't certain that she made the right choice. In the moment, killing those men had seemed right, good even. But looking at how devastated Hetty was, she isn't sure anymore. At the same time, she couldn't possibly sit by and let them continue. It would be against every one of her morals.

She can feel herself slipping into sleep, even though she knows that she should stay alert to help Rosita. She opens her eyes slowly, glancing around the street. She recognizes her surroundings dimly, and she thinks that they're getting close to the base.

Nicole doesn't see a single zombie for a few blocks, and that's enough to make her sit up and pay closer attention. Everything looks pristine. There aren't any abandoned cars in the street, none of the storefronts are destroyed or graffitied. It just looks like everyone had walked away from it all.

A few blocks later, they slow to a stop in front of a chain link fence. Beyond the fence lays the base. "Oh my god," Rosita mumbles. "It's actually here."

Nicole opens her door, almost falling out of the truck in her haste. She runs to the fence, linking her fingers in it as she leans forward.

"Hey," she shouts, waving at a man she sees in the distance. "Hey, we need help!" He turns, freezing in place when he sees Nicole. He's holding a rifle that he doesn't look remotely comfortable with.

He slowly approaches, the gun half-raised. "Are you... are any of you bitten?" He stutters, his eyes wide and unblinking as he looks at Nicole, blood-soaked and haggard.

"No, but one of us got shot. Please, you have to let us in," Nicole says, her voice climbing higher and higher. Tears prick in her eyes, the frantic desperation of everything catching up to her in a flood of emotion.

"You're sure no one's bitten?" He asks again, glancing over to the side towards the main base. At Nicole's glare, he nods his head quickly. "Yeah, okay. Guys, open the gate!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. I'm... not really happy with this chapter? It feels clunky to me, maybe. Let me know what you think.  
> An update to the ongoing heater saga: They are fixed! Good thing, because it started snowing yesterday.


	8. We Sit With the Fools and Sinners

A team of people wearing rumpled, dirty Royal Navy uniforms hustles over to the group, still standing by their truck. Nicole had backed up after the small man had called for help, standing protectively in front of Waverly, who had slipped out of the backseat. Many of the sailors hold guns, sweeping the area to make sure that nothing and no one followed them.

One man, dressed differently than the rest in a grey Henley and dark jeans seems to be in charge. He leads the group, and he seems to have a cool, calm air about him. He holsters his pistol- a Glock, Nicole notices, the same kind popular with the US military- and hoists Wynonna up like she weighs nothing.

He leads them into the base. The group of sailors surrounds the group as they make their way a few blocks over to the main gates. Two men on the inside grab either side of the large gate, pulling until the gates roll open.

Once inside the gates, the men immediately roll the gates closed again. They grab a thick chain and wrap it around the conjunction of the two sides of the gate. They lock an equally thick padlock around the chain and one of them gives it a test rattle.

The man leads them into a low building mere feet away from the fences. Half of the sailors depart, scattering to take positions along the fence. The other half stays with them as they enter the building, which is well-lit by battery operated lanterns. 

Rows of cots are set up, all of them empty. A man sits at a desk in the back, a cowboy hat perched atop his head and his feet perched atop the desk. He drops his feet to the floor as soon as the group walks in, and when he takes in the awful sight of the newcomers, he stands quickly, the chair scraping across the tile floor.

“Deputy Marshal, what can I do for you?” He asks, his voice an odd drawl that would be more at home in America’s Deep South rather than Calgary. His eyes trace between the newcomers, taking in their multiple injuries.

“Two gunshot wounds, possible concussion, various cuts and lacerations on all of them,” the man holding Wynonna says, nodding his head towards each one in turn as he indicates their injuries.

The man- the Deputy Marshal, apparently- lays Wynonna down on the cot closest to the cowboy. He nods, taking his hat off for a moment to swab his shirt sleeve across his sweaty forehead.

“Well then, worst condition first. The rest of you, take a seat. And you all, get,” he says, shooing the sailors away. They look towards the Marshal, who gives them a nod. They file out of the building, closing the door with a soft click.

Waverly sits on the bed next to her sister, leaning forward and clutching the sides of the cot until her knuckles turn white and the veins running through her biceps stand out prominently. 

Nicole sits at the end of the same cot, a few inches between them. Rosita sits across the room from the two, pulling her feet up onto the cot and up to her chest.

The cowboy goes to the corner and washes his hands in a basin before pulling on a pair of gloves. He grabs a medical kit and stands over Wynonna, who looks flushed and sweaty. She whimpers softly, her body as tense as an iron rod.

He pulls a pair of trauma shears from the bag, cutting away the ragged jeans still clinging to Wynonna’s leg. “Now, whoever tended to this wound did a mighty fine job,” he says as he unwinds the medical tape and pulls the thick wad of gauze away.

None of them answer, although Nicole feels a rush of pride at the confirmation of her abilities. “Now, we do not have the equipment to perform the regular imaging, but I am going to administer an IV. Perhaps a blood transfusion as well.”

“She’s AB+,” Waverly says immediately, watching the man as he stands and retrieves an IV bag from a nearby shelf. “We both are, if she needs blood.”

“We have blood, ma’am, but I’ll keep that in mind. Deputy Marshal, if you will,” the man says, nodding towards him. He wordlessly moves to corner, where a squat refrigerator sits. He opens it, and he pulls out a white plastic basket full of blood bags. 

All the while, the cowboy is hanging the IV from a hook on the wall and prepping it. He gives Wynonna a gentle smile, his blue eyes twinkling charmingly. "Alright, darlin, off with that jacket."  
He helps her sit up slightly and he works the jacket off of her arms. He holds it out for Waverly, who takes it and clutches it like a lifeline. Once Wynonna is lying back down, he takes her arm and gently prods the crook of her elbow. 

He works efficiently, seemingly tranquil as he finds a good vein. He grabs a rubber tourniquet and wraps it tightly around her upper arm. He swabs the crook of her arm with an alcohol pad before uncapping the needle.

"Alright, a little pinch now," he murmurs, quickly sliding the needle in. He holds the needle in place with one hand while grabbing a roll of medical tape with the other.

"I've had plenty of IV's before," Wynonna whispers. Her voice is low and gravelly; it sounds like she has to concentrate her effort just to speak. "Don't care about the pinch."

Waverly's attention is torn between the quickly working cowboy and the Deputy Marshal in the corner. He selects a bag, pushing the rest of the basket back into the refrigerator. He strides over and hands it to the cowboy, who inclines his head as a thank you. He hangs the blood bag, uncapping that needle and pushing it into the filter. He waits for the drip chamber to be half full before removing the clamp on the tubing, allowing the fluids to begin their flow.

"You have electricity?" Waverly asks, keeping one eye on the cowboy as he removes the tourniquet from her sister's leg. She groans again, but it's a relief to be rid of the constant, sharp ache of the tourniquet. 

"Some," the Deputy Marshal says, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. He and Waverly stare at each other for a long moment. Waverly prompts him to continue with a raised eyebrow and a tiny shrug. "Solar. Only used for the most essential parts of the base."

Nicole rests her hand on Waverly’s leg, patting gently to get her to look over. When she does, she mouths later. She knows that Waverly will want answers, her unending sense of curiosity kicking in. Nicole wants answers too. Everything seems a little bit too perfect, and it makes everything feel eerie. Still, though, she knows better than to question the people that are patching them up beyond polite basics.

“What are your names?” Nicole asks, redirecting the conversation. The cowboy looks up from his inspection of the bullet wound, offering them another charming smile. “John Henry Holliday, ma’am, but most call me Doc. The statue over there is Deputy Marshal Xavier Dolls. And yours?"

"Deputy Sheriff Nicole Haught," she starts, her voice weary with the necessity of having to go through introductions again with another person that she doesn't fully trust. "Wynonna Earp, Dr. Waverly Earp, and Dr. Rosita Bustillos."

Dolls perks up at the mention of Waverly, and again a moment later with Rosita. "What kinds of doctors are you?" he asks, his voice holding a hint of excitement that would probably be undetectable to anyone who wasn't trained to detect things like that. Nicole, though, hears it.

"I'm a chemist," Rosita says simply, unwinding her arms from around her knees. She lowers her feet to the ground, scooting slightly closer to the edge of the cot. She grips its edge like Waverly does. Both of them are tense, looking like they might bolt any moment.

"I'm a cultural anthropologist," Waverly says, edging closer to Nicole. Consciously, she tells herself that she just wants the comfort of the known when facing the unknown. Unconsciously, she knows that it's because these men make her feel unsafe and Nicole makes her feel the opposite. "Specialized in linguistics and ancient cultures." Dolls' face goes through an odd spectrum of disappointment, consideration, and finally a complete void of emotion. Nicole notices that too, and she keeps her own face neutral to avoid any suspicion on Dolls' part. 

"And you, Doc," Waverly continues, turning her attention back to the man who is securing a bandage around her sister's leg. "You're a medical doctor?"

"Well, yes," he says, not looking up from his task this time. "Trained as a medical doctor down in the states, Georgia. Didn't take too much to treatin' people." His nose scrunches at this, his lip twitching underneath his thick mustache. "Moved up here and trained as a veterinarian instead. Worked on big farms, livestock. You know a man by how he treats an animal."

Nicole fights back a derisive scoff at that knowledge. The doctor at this supposed safe zone, this supposed military base, was a veterinarian who gave up on treating people. Plus, they hadn't taken any of the safety precautions detailed in the emergency broadcasts. They didn't take temperatures, search them for bites, put them into immediate quarantine. They took the word of one scrawny kid with a gun too big for his body and let them in.

Nicole rests her hand on her upper thigh, close enough to her holster that she could draw her gun in seconds. She was grateful that she was able to retrieve it from the men, really. That gun had become practically like an extension of her arm and she would've hated to lose it.

Another thing is bothering Nicole, filtering through the combined fog of sleep deprivation and horrible pain. Why is Deputy Marshal Dolls here? An American marshal in a Canadian Naval base. It doesn't make any damn sense, and a logical solution doesn't immediately present itself.

So Nicole prods. She puts on a dimpled smile, looking up at the man. She knows that she looks slightly dazed, which she hopes will add to the innocent air she's trying to present. "Lot of Americans here. I was born in Colorado, came up here a long time ago. How about you, Deputy? Where you from?"

He purses his lips, but the rest of his face remains in that impartial, blank expression. A long silence drags on between them before he eventually sighs and answers. "Arizona."

She nods. Her attention is turned back to Doc when he stands up, stripping off his gloves. He tosses them in a wastebasket before moving to the corner to wash his hands again.

"She'll be right as rain," he says, looking back over his shoulder. "Minimal damage to the muscle. Probably should stay in bed for a while, and you'll have one hell of a scar, but you got off lucky. Thanks to the deputy sheriff, I suppose."

Nicole has to hand it to him. He is, against all of her better judgement, incredibly charming. His easy manner and that twinkling smile makes her want to believe him. 

"Now, who's next?" He asks, pulling on another pair of nitrile gloves. Waverly nods towards Rosita and the dried tracks of blood down her arm. They watch as Doc gently cleans the area and bandages her arm, chuckling lightly. "You all got yourself in a bad spot, I see."

"The other guys look much worse," Rosita says, eliciting another laugh from Doc.

"Oh, darlin', I don't doubt that." His work on Rosita is done quickly; he repeats the ritual of disposing of everything and washing his hands anew. This time, he soaks a clean rag under the basin's tap.   
He walks to Nicole, inclining his head towards her. "You look like you took a bath in blood, sweetheart."

Nicole shrugs. "More or less did." He begins to wipe the blood away, his touch gentle but professional. He has to go and wring his cloth out underneath the water a few times before her face and neck are clean of blood.

He hums, applying a few butterfly bandages to the cuts on her face. "That's lookin' better, but I reckon a nice long shower will do you good. Now, you think you got a concussion?"

"Yeah," Nicole says. "Headache, blurry vision, little bit of confusion." She pauses for a moment before something Doc said sinks in. "Wait, shower?"

"Yes ma'am," he says, punctuating it with a wink. "I'm sure that the Marshal would be happy to provide you all with one. Can't imagine what you must feel like, all that blood and butchery on you."

Nicole is willing to throw and and all hesitation out the window for the chance to wash all traces of blood off of her body. Her hair feels heavy and matted with it, and she would give just about anything to feel clean right now. 

"Well, your pupils are dilated," Doc says, getting back to the task at hand. He pulls a pen from his shirt pocket, holding it up in front of his face. "I want you to follow this with your eyes only."

He slowly traces the pen back and forth, watching Nicole's eyes closely. "Your eye movement is slightly delayed. Not bad, not at all. A concussion, no doubt, but nothing that a few day's rest won't fix."

He moves on from Nicole once every cut and scrape is cleaned. He inspects Waverly, but she got out lucky. A few scrapes, some bruising on her wrists where the zip ties had been secured. Other than that, she was unscathed. 

Wynonna had slipped into sleep somewhere between her own patching up and Rosita's. The blood bag has drained, and Doc removes its needle from the filter. He throws it in a small biohazard bin before returning to stand before the women.

"IV's got some pain medication in it," he says, nodding towards Wynonna. "Your sister will sleep soundly, I will make sure of that. You all would be served best by gettin' those showers and then gettin' some rest."

The Deputy Marshal pushes himself off of the wall he had been leaning on with a soft grunt. He had been so silent that Nicole had almost forgotten about him. "I'll take them to the dorms."

"Wait, but- I want to stay with Wynonna," Waverly says, shaking her head quickly. "I'm not leaving her alone here." She and Wynonna have always been protective over each other, and Waverly will be damned if she leaves her sister with these men and without any protection.

"I can stay," Rosita says, glancing over at Doc. "Hold down the fort. You two go and clean up. Lord knows you need it, Haught." She nods at Waverly, trying to convey that she's earnestly willing to protect Wynonna.

Nicole smiles at the lighthearted jab. "How about we come back here after?" she asks, also turning towards Doc. "It's been a hard few days on the road, there’s kind of a trust thing going on here. I’m sure you understand.” She's also trying to calm Waverly, to assure her that they won't be gone long.

“Well, of course. I'm not one to go separating friends and family." Doc tips his hat, an action that Nicole reads as nothing but genuine. She curses that good Southern charm that makes everything sound so convincing.

Waverly is passably satisfied. She stands, offering her hand to help Nicole up. She takes it, pushing herself off of the cot. For a moment her head spins and god, she's already fed up with this damn concussion.

Waverly places her other hand on Nicole's shoulder, keeping her steady as she sways forward. "Okay, captain, you need to get your sea legs under you."

Nicole catches Dolls' impatient stare, so she takes a deep breath, smiles, and lets go of Waverly. "I'm good. Let's go."

Dolls leads them out of the building and into the bright light of the day. Nicole winces, raising her arm to shield her eyes. When they adjust, she glances around to take stock of her surroundings. The medical building is set back, far away from everything else. Dolls starts towards a plain looking building, all drab concrete and recessed windows like every other building here.

He opens the door, letting a rush of cool but stale air hit them. The two women step in, finding themselves in a long hallway. The walls are made of the same grey concrete, interrupted at regular intervals by plain wooden doors. Dolls walks a few feet down the hallway, selecting a door. He pushes it open and steps back.

"There you go. Go back out that door when you're ready." He stands outside the door until both Nicole and Waverly have entered. He closes it behind them and they can hear footsteps fading away.

"Something feel wrong, Nicole," Waverly immediately says, whirling around to face her. "It's too perfect." Her eyes are wild and her voice is low and conspiratorial. 

“And why is a US Marshal here running shit?” Nicole asks, leaning close to Waverly and lowering her own voice to a whisper. “Why didn’t they check our temperatures, quarantine us, take any safety procedure?"

Waverly sighs, holding her forehead and staring down at the ground. Nicole can practically see her thoughts racing a million kilometers a minute. "They let us keep our weapons," she says, gesturing towards Nicole's belt and the club she's still clutching. "They didn't take anything from us, so they don't see us as a safety threat. They patched us up- but that doctor is weird, right?"

"There's something off about him," Nicole says, nodding her agreement. "Nice, but maybe too nice? It seems like he knows what he’s doing, but why isn’t there a practicing medical doctor?”

"We should just clean up and get out of here," Waverly says with a sigh, wanting to put the topic out of her mind for a moment. She walks over to one of the beds, sitting down on it. The room is pretty standard for a dorm, small and cramped, devoid of any personality. The concrete walls are painted white, the floor is a cheap linoleum. The one upside is the attached bathroom, which Waverly would have killed for during her dorm years. "You go first."

Nicole nods, offering Waverly a tight-lipped smile. She considers telling her that everything will be okay, but she's tired of platitudes that probably aren't true. She turns and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The bathroom is cramped as well. There's barely enough room for Nicole to turn around. She opens the medicine cabinet above the sink, hoping to find some soap. She's in luck. There are a couple of travel sized shampoo and conditioner bottles which Nicole is pretty sure were stolen from a hotel. Tucked away in the corner is a bar of soap, still wrapped.

She unties the work shirt from around her waist, folding it and laying it on the tiny strip of counter next to the sink. She unbuckles her utility belt, sighing in relief as the weight is lifted from her aching muscles. She repeats the process with the rest of her clothes and stands in the middle of the room, looking down at her bruised and battered body.

Nicole prods at the angry bruise on her shoulder, wincing in pain as she does. The flesh is swelling and turning an angry purple. The rest of her body is dotted with similar bruises and scrapes. 

She turns her attention to the tiny medicine cabinet mirror, examining her face in it. She looks more tired than she ever has before, and even with Doc's scrubbing, there are still spots of blood on her face. The dark purple circles under her eyes almost scare her.

Nicole abruptly grabs the soap and turns towards the shower, growing frustrated with the sight of her own state of disrepair. She pulls the curtain back slightly and turns the shower valve, holding her hand under the water until it runs warm. She steps in, sighing with pleasure as the water hits her skin.

The water pressure is pretty awful, and the water doesn't get very hot, but Nicole still feels like she's in heaven. She leans her head under the water, watching as it pools around her feet, tinted red. She squeezes a dollop of shampoo into her hand, scrubbing it into her scalp. She avoids the tender lump raising on her head as much as she can.

A few moments later, Nicole is rinsing conditioner out of her hair when a soft knock sounds at the door. She freezes, her hands still tangled in red locks. Her eyes dart around, immediately trying to find either a plan of escape or a plan of attack.

"Hey, Nicole? That kid from the fence came with some clothes and towels," Waverly says, cracking the door open to peek her head in.

"Oh, okay. Yeah, thank you. Just set them on the counter, please," Nicole responds, letting her hands fall and her held breath release. The tension leeches out of her body, but she’s still more alert than she was before. A moment later, the door shuts again.

Nicole quickly finishes rinsing her hair and washing her body, cleaning every bit of dried blood and dirt off of herself. She turns the shower off and pulls the curtain back, grabbing the folded towel on the counter. She dries off and lets the towel drop to the floor. She gets dressed in the new clothes- a soft heather grey button down and a pair of jeans that are a little too short- and gathers the rest of her things.

Waverly is sitting at one of the desks when she walks out of the bathroom. Her hands are folded in front of her, her head is bowed. She looks almost like she's praying.

"Hey, Waves," Nicole says, coming to a standstill next to the desk. She tosses her bloodied clothes onto the bed next to them and clips her utility belt back into place. The other woman looks up and smiles, although she looks a million miles away.

"Hey. That shirt looks nice on you.” She clears her throat, pushing the chair back. She holds her own stack of clothes, her thumb running restlessly over the material of a pair of light-wash jeans.

"Thanks," Nicole says, taking a seat on the bed after mechanically checking every snap and pocket on her belt. "I won't lie, the shower kind of sucks." Her tone is teasing, and Waverly cracks a small but genuine smile.

“Still pretty great though?”

“Hell yeah. I found soap and everything," Nicole says, tousling her still damp, messy hair. "I smell like hotel, and I've never been happier about that."

"Soap," Waverly says, her eyes widening theatrically. "Is probably worth its weight in gold right now. I would give you anything for access to that soap."

Nicole's cheeks redden as she watches Waverly clasp her hands in front of her chest, fake-swooning for effect. "You're in luck. It's free this one time. Next time it's gonna cost you a couple cans of ravioli."

Waverly scrunches her nose in disgust. “You can have all of those.” She falls quiet for a moment, a soft smile returning to her face. She looks up at Nicole with something like determination in her eyes. “Nicole?”

Nicole returns the smile as she runs her fingers through her hair, detangling it until it lies somewhat smooth. “Waverly?”

Waverly opens her mouth, that look of determination still burning in her eyes. “I’m really glad I met you. You... you’re a good addition to the team, and you’re brave and strong and... I like having you around. So, if you want to, I’d like it if you stuck with us.”

"I was hoping that you guys wouldn't kick me to the curb," Nicole responds. "I don't really have anywhere else to go. So for as long as you want me, I'll be by your side."

Waverly casts her gaze down to the ground and it’s her turn for her cheeks and ears to redden. The completely earnest and caring tone constant in Nicole's voice is, perhaps, the thing she likes most about her. Waverly has never been the biggest fan of people who are unwilling to be vulnerable and honest. It's the same reason why she loves her sister's blunt, levelheaded attitude.

"Good. I'm not planning on kicking you out anytime soon." With that, Waverly turns and enters the bathroom. She blows a long breath out, the loose hairs falling wildly around her face fluttering with the motion.

She rubs her hands down her face, glad for a moment alone in silence in a place that doesn't pose an immediate threat of death. She can hardly believe that everything was normal just a few short days ago. She had been grading essays and wondering what decorations she should put up in her office for Halloween.

Her mind turns to her hasty research. Waverly almost can't believe that something of this magnitude had escaped common knowledge for so long. She wishes that she had more time and full access to her resources. Then, just maybe, she could figure something to help them out.

Waverly sighs again, stepping into the shower. Back in the room, Nicole is laying back on the bed, her head pillowed on her less-injured arm. Her eyes have slipped shut, her breathing has turned steady and slow. She's only half-asleep, the kind of asleep where every noise seems a little sharper and she feels a bit like she's floating. It’s not the most restful nap, but she’ll take anything right now. Just being in a bed is wonderful.

Nicole has spent plenty of time living outside of the trappings of civilization. Her parents had started taking her on long camping trips as soon as she could walk. Of course, as soon as she was self-sufficient, they used those trips as a way to ignore her for a week while they traipsed around the woods.

Still, though, she carried the love of camping and bushcraft throughout her life. After she had dropped out of the University, she had taken a few months and lived off the grid up in the Northwest Territories. Suffice to say, she was no stranger to surviving on her own merits. This, though, is so completely different. Sure, in the bush she had to be aware of animal movement, but she's never had to deal with such a constant and overwhelming threat to her safety. It's exhausting, and Nicole wishes that this place could just be safe so they could really rest for a while.

The shower cuts off and the sudden absence of the steady noise rouses Nicole. She sighs, dragging herself up into a sitting position. A few moments later Waverly comes out of the bathroom, squeezing her hair with the towel. She looks relaxed, calm, and Nicole wishes that look could stay for as long as possible.

With a rueful smile, though, Waverly drops the towel on a desk, letting her damp hair spill down her back in a cascade. "We should probably get going soon, huh?"Nicole nods, slowly standing up with a groan as her muscles tense. "We should." Both women gather their filthy clothes and prepare to leave their temporary little bubble of safety. 

As they step into the hallway, two things immediately stick out to Nicole. The kid from the fence was standing in the hallway in front of the door, his rifle held improperly in front of him. He looks like he's barely older than twenty, with a patchy attempt at a mustache growing on his top lip. A bit further down the hallway, two small children sit together, both coloring with crayons. A woman stands in the doorway in front of them, watching them with a small smile. She looks up when Nicole and Waverly's door opens and waves at them, her face splitting into a bigger smile.

"Hey there!" she says, her eyes bright. She looks happy, safe, well-fed. The children glance up, but neither of them are interested in the women. They look back down, and Nicole gets a glance at the book they're coloring in. It's a Disney book, and it looks like they're currently working on Elsa.

"Hi," Waverly says, waving back. There's a small furrow between her eyebrows, but she offsets the look of confusion with a bright smile.

"Oh! Hey," the kid says, his nervous eyes darting between everyone in the hall. "The Deputy Marshal asked me to bring you guys back to the infirmary. My name is Jeremy." He shifts uncomfortably, switching the rifle from one hand to the other before deciding to just sling it over his shoulder, crossing the strap against his chest.

They follow him out of the dorm, blinking into the bright light once again. "He wanted me to make sure that you guys are okay. It's a lot, you know, all the dead people and stuff. Kind of crazy!" Nicole and Waverly share a confused glance behind his back. "But this place is great! And you guys met Doc earlier, he's so sweet. And, uh, professional! Very... good at what he does."

Jeremy rambles the entire walk back, barely even stopping to breathe. Neither woman gets a word in edgewise, but they both listen intently as he espouses the benefits of the base. He tells them that they haven't had a major injury or a death inside the walls, and that Doc has prevented any death from injured newcomers. As they approach the infirmary, he begins to tell them about how well Dolls has been handling the base's protection.

When they enter the infirmary, Doc is back at his desk, a pen scratching steadily across a piece of paper. He glances up and tips his hat before returning to his task. Rosita is still on the bed she was occupying, but she's also had a change of clothes. Wynonna is still sleeping and she looks peaceful, her face free of obvious pain. The Deputy Marshal is standing behind Doc, his arms crossed and that infuriatingly blank expression on his face.

Jeremy stops in the middle of the room, grinning as he stares at Doc. "Heya, Doc. I brought the newbies back!"

"I see that, Jeremy. Thank you kindly," he says, putting his pen down. "Deputy, Doctor, you both are looking much better."

Nicole instinctively rests one of her hands on her holster, the other clutching her belt buckle. "Feeling much better, Doc. I was actually wondering if we could speak with the Deputy Marshal."

The man raises one eyebrow at them, pushing himself away from the wall he was leaning on. "By all means. Let's go outside."

Rosita stands, following the group outside. The three women gather in a semi-circle, facing Dolls and his stony expression.

Nicole starts, immediately refusing to beat around the bush. "Something feels off here, Deputy Marshal. You didn't take any safety procedures when we came in, you don't have an acting medical doctor but a veterinarian, and you," she emphasizes, pointing one finger at him, "Are an American Marshal. What the hell are you doing up here?"

Dolls' expression doesn't change; he doesn't seem surprised at the line of questioning. "You're perceptive. I like that in a person. We didn't take any safety precautions because the symptoms of advanced deterioration have become very evident. None of you displayed the sweating, the erratic movement and behavior. None of you had burst blood vessels in your eyes. It's very easy to tell who is a danger and who is not."

The answer makes sense, and Nicole feels her righteous resolve start to diminish. It's entirely possible that all of her suspicions are just a product of the paranoia borne from the days surrounded by constant danger.

He continues. "John Henry is our current doctor because the medical doctor on site was called to an area hospital as soon as the first case was reported. We don't expect that he survived, and it would be far too risky to send recovery team. Most of the sailors only have basic first aid, but Doc arrived and was ready and willing to help out."

Nicole's hand falls away from her holster and her shoulders slump. She's beginning to feel ridiculous. "This is probably the part that you won't like," he says, a brief flash of concern in his eyes. "I'm here because we expected this. I work for a special branch of the US Marshals that specializes in detecting and containing infectious diseases. We work closely with the CDC and the WHO. There were isolated events in the states and I was sent to this base to create a safe zone. Last I heard, most of America has fallen to the infected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I want to apologize for missing last week. I'm reaching the end of my semester so I'm pretty overloaded with papers and registration and financial aid stuff.. I'm going to try my best to upload consistently every week, but I'm really sorry if I don't!  
> Anyway- I hope you like this chapter. The base is a little bit creepy, huh? Let me know what you think!  
> (And happy Halloween)


	9. The Fear of Being Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first days at the base. Important conversations and an even more important decision.

Nicole watches as Dolls stalks off towards the fence, already barking orders at a group of young, tired looking sailors huddled in a circle near the fence. They scatter, all loosely holding rifles as they take their watch positions. After his admission, the three women had stared at him blankly. He had looked between them with that steely, unnerving gaze. Waverly had thrown up her hand, telling him that they needed to be alone for a moment. 

The fire in Nicole's eyes had gone out. She's just... completely drained. The thought that all of this death and horror led to another place that was built on death and horror is almost too much to bear. She slouches against the wall of the medical building, half-listening as Waverly and Rosita talk. Most of her brain is focused on her own self-loathing, though.

"The American government _knew_ ," Waverly says, her fire not yet extinguished, still burning brighter than any star. Every muscle in her body is tense; it looks like she's almost vibrating with fury and confusion. "They knew- they were tracking cases, they have an entire damn division of the marshals dedicated to diseases- and they didn't do anything but send a few marshals to a few bases to create safe zones? They didn't tell the military, set up a proper border, anything?"

Waverly's voice is edging on a yell, and it's making Nicole's head pound thanks to her concussion. She slings an arm across her eyes, blocking out the sun shining into them in an attempt to stop one stressor. Rosita is saying something- she isn't sure what, her brain has started to shut out any noise that isn't instantly vital.

Then, there's a cool hand on her arm, brushing past the rolled-up sleeve of her shirt to land on her wrist. The fingertips are gentle against her skin, just the barest hint of nails that are somehow still well-manicured ghosting across the back of her hand.

Even from the very few times that they've touched, that feeling has become ingrained in Nicole's brain. Waverly, with the hint of calluses that Nicole imagines are the product of all that field work she had talked so passionately about. Waverly, with the persistently chilly hands that are always comforting instead of shocking. 

Waverly, with her sweet voice saying "Hey, let's get you laying down, okay? You need to rest up, sweetheart."

Nicole drags her arm away from her face reluctantly. Waverly's hand follows, though, keeping that light touch steady on her wrist. It makes an odd happiness spark in Nicole's chest, and she isn't certain why.

"I'll stay with you and Wynonna, okay? Keep watch. We can talk about what we want to do when both of you are awake," she says, her grip tightening a fraction as she pulls Nicole towards the medical building's door. 

Nicole nods, not trusting her voice at the moment. Finally, after far longer than she had expected of herself, every bit of exhaustion has caught up to her and she feels like she's going to crash and burn. 

The cool air of the building comes as a relief. It's only a moment before Waverly has her lying back on one of the cots, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she lays her head on the thin pillow. Nicole's eyes are closed and her face goes slack almost immediately.

"Is the deputy doin' alright?" Doc asks, leveling a warm gaze at Waverly. She crosses the room, sitting at the edge of Wynonna's bed. Waverly sighs, looking down at her sister's relaxed face.

"Just exhausted. She's been pushing herself hard these past few days. Protecting us with everything she has. God, she just met us and she's done _so much_ for us already. Given so much for us." Waverly presses her lips together hard, a cold tendril of guilt squeezing her heart. 

"I am a very good judge of character, Dr. Earp," he says, removing his hat and laying it on top of a stack of files on his desk. "And that deputy has an excellent character. I can't tell so much for your sister and the other doctor, but I do believe you have an excellent character as well."

Waverly brushes her fingers across Wynonna's cheekbone. She's relieved at the return of color there. The ghostly pale that had accompanied the blood loss made Waverly feel sick. She's seen her sister in hospital beds plenty of times- she's always been reckless, and as it turns out, riding a motorcycle in winter without any protective gear is a _horrible_ idea- but never anything this bad.

Waverly looks back up at Doc, a suddenly thoughtful look on her face. "Nicole is excellent. Maybe you do have a good judge of character." She pauses for a few beats before giving a minuscule shrug. "What do you think of Deputy Marshal Dolls?"

The corners of the man's mustache twitch, his eyes darken almost imperceptibly. Just the barest hint of emotion before he schools his face back into that impartial, effortless grin. "Well, Dolls surely is an odd case. I have had a difficult time getting a read on the man. What I do know is that he would do about anything to protect the people in this base. He is a fine leader, if a bit... prickly at times."

Waverly hums vaguely, turning her gaze back down to Wynonna. She's already trying to make a pros and cons list in her head. Pros of staying here: beds, showers, maybe not worrying about imminent death for ten seconds. Cons of staying here: there is a truly unfortunate amount of governmental neglect and conspiracy that's lead to the deaths of probably thousands of people, if not millions.

"How long do you think it'll take her to get better?" Waverly asks, her eyes darting towards Wynonna's bandaged leg. Despite their reservations and doubts about Doc's abilities, it's obvious that he's good at what he does. He'd taken care of them with a gentle and efficient touch and his knowledge shines through his air of nonchalance.

"Up and walkin'? Maybe a few weeks. Up and walkin' for a length of time without any pain? Probably a few months at least. Even with minimal nerve and muscle damage, as in your sister's case, there's some necessary physical therapy. Besides," he says with a shrug as he picks up his hat, plopping it back onto his head. "snow is coming soon. Travel is probably going to be nigh impossible in about a month."

He turns back to his desk fully, picking up his pen to continue scratching away at whatever he's working on. A moment of silence passes before the steady scratching stops and Doc looks up once more.

"I meant to ask you. Pray tell, why is your sister's jacket full of broken cigarettes?" Doc's mustache twitches again, this time paired with a raised eyebrow.

Waverly sighs, looking down at her sister with an affectionate shake of her head. "She was convinced that she was going to trade them for... something."

Doc hums, his eyes flicking towards the leather jacket that is now folded and sitting on the foot of Wynonna's bed. "Well... what would you say if I took some of the ones that are not completely destroyed? A trade for patching you all up."

"Aren't you a doctor?" Waverly asks, trying to keep the slightly judging tone out of her voice. Doc looks almost sheepish, his fingers trailing unconsciously along the brim of his hat. 

"We all have our vices, Dr. Earp," he says, his eyes flicking around the room and resting for a moment on Nicole before returning to Waverly. "Even and especially if that vice is horrible for you."

"Knock yourself out," Waverly says, waving her hand towards the jacket. Doc springs up, dipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket and withdrawing it with a couple of slightly-crumpled cigarettes.

"I'll be back in a flash, darlin'," he says, tilting his head towards her as he strolls towards the door, tipping his hat at her.

Waverly looks around the room, heaving yet another sigh as she's left in silence. She's never liked existing in quiet spaces, and she tries to fill the room by tapping a rhythm on the ground. She drums her fingers on her thigh in tandem, trying not to allow her shoulders to tense up too much.

So much of her childhood was spent in terrible silence. Her parents had always been unbearably silent right before they exploded into their screaming matches. Most of the time, Wynonna and Willa had ushered her into the barn and distracted her with games that they thought they were far too old for, but they indulged her in anyway. Waverly was just so young, and it broke both of their hearts to see their baby sister so confused and scared by their parent's behavior.

And then their mama had left and Ward had shut off almost completely. He moped around, shooting scathing glances at the girls whenever they dared to make any noise. When she was with Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis, though, she was allowed to make as much noise as she wanted. Curtis, with his almost uncanny ability to read Waverly's emotions, could tell that silence made her uncomfortable.

So he always had records playing on his ancient Victrola, singing and spinning her around in grand dances. When she was old enough, he gave her a clarinet he found on one of his antique hunting trips. She joined the school band, and, as usual, she excelled. Curtis funded dance lessons and voice training. Anything to fill that silence. 

Waverly sighs, standing up and moving to Doc's desk. The tapping wasn't enough to distract her, so she figures she might as well be nosy. She looks at the paper that he'd been working on, finding notes on all of them. Nothing nefarious, just general observations about their injuries and the supplies that he had used to treat them. His handwriting is much neater than she had expected, a loopy cursive that, like his speech patterns, feels like it belongs in a previous century.

She flips through the stacks of paper, finding nothing but similar treatment notes and running lists of supplies. Waverly appreciates the organization of it all.

Waverly springs back from the desk at the sound of the door opening, her mind sprinting to find something to do to make it seem like she wasn't snooping. Her shoulders drop and she sighs in relief as Rosita appears in the doorway. Her hair is wet, hanging down over one shoulder.

"Hey, you little snoop. Doc's coming back in a moment," she says, her eyes twinkling as she sits on one of the cots and begins to roll up the sleeves on the shirt that Jeremy had provided her with. She stands again, grabbing the pistol that she had taken from the men and tucking it into her waistband. 

"Right, yeah," Waverly mumbles, her hands waving in some vague gestures as she returns to Wynonna's bedside. She clears her throat, perching herself on the edge of the bed and sitting iron-rod straight.

Rosita snorts as she takes her companion's stiff posture in. "Find anything good in there, Nancy Drew?"

"When I was ten I desperately wanted to be Nancy Drew," Waverly replies, an almost pout crossing her face at the memory before she levels her expression again. "But, no. Just patient notes and inventory. I think I trust Doc. At least more than I trust the Deputy Marshal."

Doc opens the door then, stepping back in with a grin. He quickly strolls back to his desk, inclining his head to both women in his almost overly polite manner. The scent of cigarette smoke wafts in with him, and Waverly's nose crinkles. She's always hated that smell. It reminds her a little too much of her mama. Michelle always thought that the Shalidelle she wore covered it up, but her daughters could still smell it.

"You all should get some sleep," he says as he settles back into his desk chair. He resumes the position they first saw him in, tilting his chair back to kick his feet up onto the desk. He sighs, pulling his hat low on his head so his eyes are shadowed. "Lord knows I could go for a nap right now."

Rosita and Waverly exchange a glance, broken when Rosita shrugs and reaches down to yank her boots off. She lays back, turning on her side to face the door. Waverly shoots one last lingering gaze at her sister before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. She slides off of the bed, moving the few short steps to the one right next to hers.

Waverly too curls on her side, although she's facing her sister. She keeps her eyes locked on Wynonna's face until they become too heavy to keep open any longer.

\--

Waverly wakes hours later with a start, scrambling into a sitting position with a gasp and her hand pressed to her chest, over her racing heart. The room is pitch black, the lanterns having apparently been turned off at some point while she was asleep. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust, but when they do, she sees that Doc is no longer at his desk. Her sister is still next to her, sleeping peacefully. Rosita is hugging her pillow to her chest, her hair covering most of her face. Across from her, Nicole has turned onto the side that isn't covered in nasty black and blue bruises. Her cheek is smushed against the pillow; a strand of red hair flutters with every breath she takes. 

Waverly keeps her hand pressed to her chest until she can feel her heart rate begin to slow. She clears her throat, finding it suddenly dry and uncomfortable. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing for her backpack. Waverly pulls it open and blindly digs around, huffing when she remembers that Wynonna had chugged all of their water early in the day. It feels like they had been back in the center of the city centuries ago, despite the rather short time that it had actually been.

"Waverly?" She hears, a gravelly whisper from across the room. Waverly drops the bag back onto the floor, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at Nicole. The deputy pushes herself to sit up, grabbing at her side with a wince. She stays in that position for a painful few seconds before letting her breath hiss out between her teeth.

"Hey, did I wake you up?" Waverly asks, keeping her voice at a whisper. She looks over to her sister, ensuring that the noise isn't disturbing her. She's still asleep, but she's shifted enough that Waverly thinks that she was probably awake at some point.

"No, no," Nicole says, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. "Strong internal clock. It's probably right around five in the morning."

"Really?" Waverly asks, her eyebrows furrowing. "We were asleep for forever." She stands, stretching her arms above her head until her spine pops. With a satisfied groan, she lets her arms drop to her sides before reaching down to touch her toes.

Nicole watches as Waverly stretches, her own body screaming in protest at the very thought of moving like that right now. "We were all dead on our feet," she replies, watching the stretches that she's seen Waverly do every morning. She had, of course, said that staying limber and stretched was half the battle. Nicole is getting used to the professor's eccentricities, and most of them bring a smile to Nicole's face. "I haven't slept that long since I was a teenager."

Waverly snickers, the thought of a gangly Nicole who hadn't quite grown into her long limbs invading her mind. "Oh yeah? What were you like as a teenager?" she asks, sitting back down on the bed to pull her sneakers on and tie them.

Nicole snorts. She hauls her legs over the side, ignoring the ache as her exhausted muscles tense. She grabs her boots, trying to hide the fact that she has to gasp for breath in that doubled over position. She feels better thanks to the hours of rest, if only marginally.

"You would have hated me," Nicole says finally, slightly out of breath as she sits up with her boots tied. "I was a slacker. I cheated, I skipped, I smoked cigarettes behind the church with my burnout friends instead of ever going in. And then I went to the University for one semester, failed every single test and assignment, dropped out and lived in the wilderness for half a year."

Waverly stares. A long moment drags on, a moment in which Nicole fixes her with a toothy grin and widespread hands. "I think I would've loved you," she says eventually, setting her shoulders in the stubborn, confident manner that she undoubtedly picked up from Wynonna. 

"You? The genius triple major who graduated with a doctorate two years ahead of schedule?" Nicole's voice is incredulous; she bites back a bark of surprised laughter.

"Yes!" Waverly responds with a gleam in her eyes. "I would've found you fascinating. I mean, I do find you fascinating. You're going to have to tell me about that living in the wilderness thing, by the way."

She takes a few steps closer, putting her at the foot of her cot. She halts, suddenly self-conscious. Waverly pulls at the fingers on her right hand with her left, looking down at the ground. "I wasn't... I didn't have very many friends in school. People were nice to me because they wanted me to do their homework or they wanted to see the broken house on the edge of town. No real friends." She finishes her statement with a whisper, releasing a soft, defeated sigh.

Nicole just shrugs nonchalantly, a move that confuses Waverly. "I wasn't the most popular kid either. Pretty damn far from it. I probably woulda loved you too. And I didn't care enough about my homework to make you do it." With that, she turns, strolling towards the door as smoothly as she can with her whole-body muscle ache.

Waverly blinks at the other woman's back for a moment before her brain catches up. She follows after, reaching Nicole's heels as she opens the door. "What are we doing?" she asks, stepping out into the grey light of very early morning. The sun hasn't yet risen above the horizon, confirming Nicole's internal clock instincts. It's cold out as a result, and Waverly wraps her arms around herself, trying to fight off the goosebumps that rise on her arms despite the sweater she was given.

Nicole shrugs again. "I don't really know. Hopefully finding Doc or Dolls or someone. I just didn't really want to stay still any longer." She looks back at Waverly, her dimples showing as she grins. "You cold?"

"Pretty much always," Waverly responds, rubbing her hands against her arms in a futile attempt to warm herself. She has a petulant pout on, and Nicole snorts as she turns back.

"I'd offer you my jacket, but I don't have it with me. And it's covered in enough blood to rival Carrie on prom night."

"Funny," Waverly says, trying and failing to keep the scowl off of her face. Nicole slows, letting Waverly close the small gap caused by Nicole's long strides. When she gets close enough, Nicole reaches out and slings her arm across Waverly's shoulder. She pulls the smaller woman close, their sides pressing together. Waverly instantly feels warmer, but she can't tell if its because of Nicole's body heat or because of the blush she can feel rising on her cheeks.

Nicole looks down at her with that dimpled grin and a brief flash of affection passes through her eyes. "Let's go, Frosty. I think I see Jeremy over there," she says, pointing off towards the fence where the young man stands, idly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stares out into the empty streets. 

They walk towards him, Waverly tucked securely under Nicole's arm. The weight of her arm feels comforting, familiar somehow. Nicole smells slightly citrusy from the hotel bar soap. She finds that, too, comforting.

As soon as they get close enough for Jeremy to spot them, his face splits in a wide grin. He shoots one last glance through the fence, his eyes sweeping the street in front of him. He doesn't see anything, and he pulls away and jogs towards them, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder.

"Hey, guys! Didn't expect to see you up and about this early." His eyes dart over them and his head tilts slightly. Nicole appreciates how he wears every one of his emotions directly on his face, like the inquisitive quirk of the lips he's wearing right now. "Oh, uh, how long have you two been together? Like, married or whatever."

Nicole's cheeks redden and she pulls her arm away quickly. She stutters slightly, her hands running through her hair nervously. "No, I, we aren't- uh, married. Or together, for that matter."

"Oh!" he says, his head bobbing up and down not unlike a chicken's. "It's just, you were," he continues, waving his hand in the same up and down motion towards them, "standing like that, and you're, like, old? Old enough to be married."

"I'm 32! And Nicole is only a year older than me," Waverly says, scoffing incredulously. “That is _not_ old.”

Jeremy holds his hand up, his face twisting up into something resembling pain. “Okay, yeah, not old. Are either of you, though? Married? Or just dating anyone.”

The two women exchange a glance, both of them with furrowed eyebrows and confusion in their eyes. Nicole sighs. It feels like Jeremy is seeking some sort of normalcy, and she might as well go along with it. Jeremy is eager and earnest, she genuinely likes the man. And it won’t hurt to make a friend here.

“I’m divorced, actually. So yeah, old enough to be married," Nicole says. She crosses her arms defensively in front of her chest, a scowl forming on her face almost instinctively. It's not something that she loves to talk about, but it's also not a topic that she shies away from if asked.

"Oh." Jeremy's expression falls further, a look of despair barely contained on his face. "I'm sorry for asking, I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to."

"Hey, no," Nicole says, stepping forward. Her voice is low and soft and she places a hand on his shoulder, patting it softly. "It's okay, man. It was a long time ago. All water under the bridge. How about you? You have some lucky person out there?"

Jeremy's face instantly melts into one of his signature grins, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "Oh, well, I went on a couple of dates with this guy on campus but then I like, got called here because I signed up for the Service Corps cause I thought that I was going to be assigned to forest care duty with the guy that I was seeing but then all this started and-"

Nicole tunes him out. She looks over her shoulder to Waverly, who is standing stock-still with shock coloring her expression. Nicole had expected it, she always expects something in the realm of shock or pity. She'd had far too many experiences with old women tutting unhappily upon noticing the persistent tan line left on her ring finger not to expect it. Too many of them saying that he didn't know what was good for him, leaving a woman like her. She never cared to correct them, she just plastered on a smile and nodded along. 

Something about the way Waverly is looking at her makes her uncomfortable in a way she's never felt before, though. It feels almost as if the very depths of her soul are being searched by Waverly's , and she turns back with a shiver running up her back. 

Jeremy is still talking, apparently not even noticing Nicole's lapse of attention. He's moved on to talk about a computer science class- maybe, Nicole can't exactly understand half of what he's saying. Understanding him would be like decoding an unknown language. Which, she realizes, is what Waverly has devoted her entire life to.

"Oh, wait!" Jeremy says suddenly, interrupting himself in the middle of a sentence about a coding language he was learning. Nicole snaps back to full attention, her head tilting slightly to show her recognition. "You guys must be starving. What we have isn't super great, like, it's just cafeteria food and not even really good cafeteria food, but it's way better than nothing and Deputy Marshal Dolls said that they're going to set up a farm as soon as they can send out recon teams to get supplies and then we can have fresh produce."

"You read my mind, Jeremy," Nicole says. "Right now, even crappy cafeteria food sounds amazing."Jeremy calls out to the nearest person on watch, telling them that he's taking the women to go grab breakfast. They nod, turning their disinterested gaze back to the street. 

Jeremy leads them away from the fence, a bounce in his step as he walks ahead of the women. Nicole lags back a few paces to catch up with Waverly.

“Hey,” she says, stealing a sideways glance at the other woman. Waverly smiles at her, any hint of that soul-deep stare gone. Now, her eyes are as warm and inviting as they always are when directed at the members of their small group.

“Hey back. How are you feeling today? You’re walking a bit stiffly.”

Nicole nods her agreement. “Feeling a bit stiff. Sore as hell, and I have a bit of a headache, but way better than yesterday. How about you?”

“I got off easy, Nicole. All of you got horribly hurt and I’m perfectly fine. Barely a scratch on me.”

“That’s a good thing, you know. At least one of us has to have it together. Lead us.”

Waverly stays silent for a moment. Nicole's implication that she should lead the group feels wrong to her. She's not brave and level-headed like Nicole, and she's not fearless and eager like Wynonna. Truthfully, Waverly doesn't think that she brings much to the group at all.

"I'm not leader material. Not like you, at least," Waverly says as they draw close to the building that Jeremy is leading them to. It's virtually indistinguishable from the other buildings around, save for the sign above the door declaring 'cafeteria' in blocky, metal letters. 

He pushes the doors open, letting the women walk in ahead of them. This building, like all the others, is cold due to the lack of heating. Unlike the others, though, there are actually groups of people. It's a normal cafeteria, with rows of long tables set up and a serving station at the back of the room. Most of the tables are half full, with people sitting in loose groups. Many of them look like families, complete with small children. All of them look happy and safe.

"So, uh, I'm sure you guys know what to do from here, right? Just go grab a tray and some food. I should get back, I'm not, like, really supposed to leave my post and I don't want Deputy Marshal Dolls to find out and get mad at me."

"Of course!" Waverly says, giving him an easy smile. "Thank you so much for showing us how to get here. See you soon?" Jeremy grins, assuring them that they will probably be seeing him soon. He walks out with that same exuberant bounce in his step.

"Anyway," Nicole says pointedly, intent on getting back to their previous conversation as they walk to the serving station. "You're certainly leader material. But... whether we stay or leave isn't a decision that just one of us can make."

Both women grab a tray, surveying their options. It's surprisingly well-stocked, and it might be the hunger talking, but everything looks good. "Well, what do you think? About staying?"

Nicole sighs as she scoops scrambled eggs onto her tray. Waverly scoops oatmeal onto her tray, grabbing a couple pieces of toast as well. She takes an apple from the bucket, placing one on Nicole's tray as well. She'd also picked up toast, along with a few of the sausage patties that Waverly had turned her nose up at. At the end of the line, there are packs of bottled water and both women grab a bottle. 

"It... Doc is right. It'll be hard to go down through the mountains anyway, and it'll be impossible to do it in the snow. We'd get stuck or freeze to death before we got even halfway to your aunt. And with Wynonna... We can't move."

Waverly sighs. "If we waited through winter and until the snow is melted enough for easy passage... God, that would probably be May. Six months, Nicole. _So much_ could happen in six months."

"I know. I know," Nicole says, leading them away from the serving station. They sit across from each other at the end of an unoccupied table. "But I don't think that leaving now would be any safer. Wynonna wouldn't be able to walk, and we wouldn't be able to help her if, if the wound got infected or worse in any way. And if we were still in the mountains when the snow came? Waverly, we wouldn't have a chance in hell. We would die in hours."

Waverly sighs, leaning her head into her hands. Her hair falls around her face, obscuring her expression. After a moment she looks up, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "God, Nicole, I don't know what to do." Her voice breaks slightly, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "I don't..."

Nicole reaches out, grabbing one of Waverly's cold hands. She rubs her thumb over the back of her hand, whispering "Hey, hey... Waverly, we will figure this out. I promise you, no matter what we do, I will stay with you, and I will protect you and your sister. I swear, Waverly." 

Waverly turns her hand, twining her fingers with Nicole's. She clings to her hand like it's a lifeline, squeezing tightly. Nicole squeezes back, moving her other hand to cover both clasped hands. 

"You're... You're too good, Nicole. You shouldn't have to be dealing with any of this, you shouldn't have to be making life or death decisions for people you barely know." A tear rolls down her face, she huffs out a choked sob.

"Oh, if I hadn't found Wynonna, you know that I would have just found another pair of reckless sisters to stick myself to." Nicole's own eyes are red-rimmed, the rise of tears blurring her vision slightly. "I'm lucky that I got you two."

Waverly chuckles, the sound watery and weak. With her free hand, she brushes away the tears that had fallen. "If Jeremy could see us now, he'd be convinced beyond any reasoning that we're married."  
This pulls a laugh from Nicole as well. She removes one of her hands, using it to wipe away her own tears. "We're a mess. Great breakfast conversation, huh? Although, not the first time I've had a good cry session over cafeteria breakfast."

Waverly slowly pulls her hand away from Nicole's, replacing it with the bottle of water. She takes a few long sips before answering. "You've had just about every experience in the book, huh?"

Nicole replies with a rueful smile and a minuscule shake of the head. She picks up her fork, despite the sudden utter lack of appetite that she feels. "Just about."Both women eat their breakfasts quickly, with the heavy air of their conversation still thick around them. Once finished, they return their trays and step back out into the early morning.

The medical building is a short walk, only a few minutes away. Waverly sticks close to Nicole's side, their arms brushing as they walk silently. The sun has risen over the horizon, painting the sky pink and gold. The sun shines brightly, bringing out the same gold in Nicole's hair and deep eyes as it does in the sky. 

She stops in front of the door, laying her hand gently on Waverly's shoulder. "I promise, Waverly," she whispers. Waverly nods, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment as she soaks in the sun and the feeling of Nicole's hand on her shoulder.

Nicole takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. Doc is back at his desk, his eyes flicking up to them when they walk in. He nods his acknowledgement. Rosita is sitting up, her eyes closed and her legs crossed neatly. Her hands lay on her knees, a position that Waverly instantly recognizes from the hundreds of hours she's spent sitting the same way.

Wynonna, too, is awake, with her back propped up by a few folded pillows. She breaks into a grin when the two women walk in. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and her expression is utterly relaxed, no doubt an effect of the pain medication she's on.

Nicole goes to Rosita's side; Waverly instantly goes to her sister's. She brushes her hands lightly across Wynonna's cheeks, tucking errant strands of hair behind her ears. "Hey, Nonna. How are you feeling?""Oh, great," she says, nodding slightly. "For a gal who just got shot, I am wonderful. The good doctor's got some prime shit, baby girl."

Doc's mustache twitches with the hint of a smile as he looks up at the sisters. "Medication. Trying to keep her pain down as much as possible, of course. All things considered, she is doing spectacular."

At the sound of footsteps and a shutting door, Waverly looks up and catches Nicole's gaze. Nicole stands near Rosita's bed still, although the doctor has gone. The deputy mouths 'breakfast' and then 'stay.'

Waverly looks back at her sister and brushes her thumb over her cheek once more. "What's that look for, Waves? That's your, uh... your worryin' face."

"We're going to be staying here for a while, Wynonna."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long, long overdue and for that I'm sorry. Good news though: I am officially done with my first (technically third?? Thank you duel credit and AP) semester of college. Still waiting on some final grades, but I didn't bomb anything!   
> I played around with their ages for story purposes. They do seem old to my Certified Teenager Brain haha.  
> Anyway- I hope you enjoyed! I look forward to seeing your thoughts, and I'll see you soon :)


	10. Has Melancholy Taken You For Good?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at the trio after a couple of months at the base.

Nicole stands with her back against the wall, holding her breath as she listens for any movement within the house. Her gloved hand clutches a hunting knife close to her chest. She looks at the man next to her, and he inclines his head towards the door. Given permission, Nicole steps out from her protective position. She grabs the handle, unsurprised to find it locked tightly.

With a soft sigh, she shoves the knife's blade into the space between the door and its frame, above the lock. She pushes it down until it stops, having hit the lock. Nicole adjusts her grip on the knife, widens her stance, and pushes down as hard as she can. As she does, she rocks the knife side to side until she feels the slight give of the blade sliding between the latch and its hole.

She pushes the knife to the side, forcing the latch to give. Freeing one hand, she reaches out and turns the doorknob, grinning triumphantly as the door swings open.

"You're getting good at that, Haught," Dolls says, nodding to her. She's come to realize that that's as far as his gestures of approval go. Still, it makes her smile. "Come on. Guard up, call out if you need help."

"You know I will," Nicole says in a whisper, entering the house a few steps after the man. He gestures at himself and points up, then gestures back at her and points forward. She nods, watching as he goes up the stairs with his axe held protectively in front of his body.

Nicole takes slow steps, trying to reduce the noise that her heavy boots make on the wood floors. She turns the corner of the short front hallway, finding herself in the living room. Like many of the other houses that they've searched, there are signs of disorder. There are toys and storybooks scattered across the floor; a closet door in the hallway across from her lays ajar, with coats and hangers laying abandoned. As they had moved further and further away from the base the disorder had become worse.

Dolls, after weeks of being pestered, had told Nicole that he sent rescue teams to the neighborhoods surrounding the base after he had arrived and secured it. That, he explained, was why the blocks around the base look so pristine. As they had gotten further away, though, the danger had grown and the rescue teams were rushed. Because of this, families had been unable to grab everything they wanted.

It had taken Nicole a few weeks to fully recover, but eventually the bruises faded and her head stopped pounding constantly. She had gone to Dolls almost immediately, looking for some way to help around the base. He had nodded, stared at her for a moment, and asked her if she wanted to join him on recovery missions. She had gladly agreed, partly because of her urge to help people and partly because of her urge to get closer to the man and learn more about him.

Nicole fishes around her jacket pocket until her hand comes in contact with the slip of paper resting there. She pulls it out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the list until they land on the line she wants. 2815, 25th Street. The Graham family. 

Nicole shoves the paper back into her pocket once she memorizes the list of items she's looking for. She pulls her knife back out of its sheath, gripping it tightly as she approaches the hallway. As she approaches, she keeps her attention out for any unexpected noises. She can hear Dolls above her, his footsteps growing quiet as he moves away from her position.

Nicole pushes the first door open. It's a small bedroom. Nicole thinks that it probably belongs to the little boy. She remembers talking to his parents the other day, how he had run up to them and asked with wide, pleading eyes if Nicole could please get his favorite stuffed dog from his room. She makes a mental note to go through this room thoroughly before they leave.

The next room is Mr. Graham's home office. He had asked for the wedding pictures on his desk, his pleading face an almost exact mirror of his son's. The last room is the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is hanging open and Nicole can see a few pill bottles that had landed messily in the sink. At the end of the hallway sits the closet. Nicole kicks a hanger out of her way as she retreats, heading back down the hallway and across from the living room, into the dining room. 

A quick glance confirms that the dining room is clear. Nicole pushes open the door to the kitchen, wincing at the sharp squeak that breaks the silence. She holds her breath again, waiting for a moment to listen for any unwanted guests. Nothing. The deputy releases her breath and it mists in front of her in a white cloud. She watches as the vapor dissipates before pushing the door the rest of the way open and stepping inside the kitchen.

She wrinkles her nose as the scent of rotting fruit hits her nose. To try to fight it off, she grabs the collar of her shirt and pulls it up over her nose. There's what looks like a bowl shattered on the floor, and she steps gingerly around it on her way to the refrigerator. This is the most important thing in the house, really one of the most important things that they've recovered so far.

Mrs. Graham had left her insulin behind when she was evacuated. She was in luck, though; the base had a limited supply stashed away in the same mini-fridge that holds the blood bags. But the supply was running low, and it is becoming increasingly important to find and bring back as much insulin as possible. Mrs. Graham had let them know that she had a sizable unopened supply, and Nicole is praying that the house's ambient temperature had remained low enough to keep its potency.

Nicole sheaths her knife, keeping her other hand occupied with covering her nose against the stench in the room. She yanks the fridge open, recoiling at the sour, putrid scent of rot that wafts from the contents. She takes a moment to cough, turning away and leaning forward with her hands on her knees. Once she's straightened up and turned back to the refrigerator, Nicole purposefully keeps her gaze pointed away from any food items, instead focusing on the door that she had yanked open.

Thankfully, the door is occupied solely with condiments and drinks, nothing to rot and provide her with a sight that she already gets far too much of when she lays eyes on a zombie. Mrs. Graham had told them that she kept her insulin vials in the butter compartment.

Nicole pulls open the small cover, taking in the encouraging sight before her. There are two unpackaged vials, and nothing looks outwardly wrong with them. There are also three other packages sitting there, and Nicole quickly rips them open. She slings her backpack off of her shoulder, crouching in front of it with the vials in hand. They're cold to the touch, and that only encourages her further.

In the backpack, Nicole finds the small plastic container they had brought along to protect the vials. She tucks them away, wrapping each one individually in a scrap of fabric. Once the lid is back on, she presses the container to her chest and takes a deep breath. 

"Please be good. Please, work for us," she mutters, sending a silent prayer to any god that she can think of. In the line of duty, she had seen firsthand the effects that advanced ketoacidosis can have, and it's something that she wouldn't wish upon anyone.

She gingerly places the container back into its side pocket, tucking yet another piece of fabric around it to provide cushioning. None of them were willing to take a risk and allow those vials to shatter. Standing once more, Nicole shuts the refrigerator door once more. She's glad to be rid of some of the thick scent hanging oppressively over her head. 

Nicole places her backpack on the small table in the corner of the room and opens the main pocket. It's a large hiking pack, bigger even than the one that she had found in the first few days of the outbreak. It's ideal for these sorts of trips, even if it causes Nicole to long for the simpler days when she would be using a pack like this to plan an off-grid excursion. 

She goes to the cabinets closest to the fridge first, pulling open the one under the counter. In it, she finds a rather sparse collection of food. Still, anything is better than finding nothing. The base still has a healthy stash of food in the cafeteria's kitchens, but they've been supplementing that supply with the food they scavenge from residences. Soon, this will have to be their main source of food.

Nicole gathers everything she can into her arms, returning to the table. She sorts the food, stowing away cans of green beans and assorted low-sodium soups on the bottom of the pack, atop cans that she had found in the previous couple of houses. In the side of the pack, she tucks away a couple of boxes of low-carb lentil pasta. _Waverly will probably like that_ , she thinks, a tiny smile crossing her lips. 

She shakes her head, refusing to get distracted from the task at hand. She returns to the cabinet, reaching far into the back to grab a jar of spaghetti sauce that she had been unable to reach. Pressing down on the center tab, the deputy is relieved to find that it hasn't popped up. Still sealed, still untouched by the world around it.

After returning to her backpack to stow the jar away, she returns to the cabinets. A box of slightly stale crackers, a couple of cabinets full of pots and pans that Nicole skips over, then a veritable treasure trove of dry goods. Bags of rice, dry beans, sugar, flour. She piles everything up on the table, grunting at the weight. She'll have to split this with Dolls. Nicole packs half of the goods away in her pack, returning to search through the rest of the kitchen. She's about to give up and move on when she spots a flash of something colorful on top of the refrigerator.

Nicole's brows furrow, she tilts her head back to get a better look at what's up there. When that doesn't work, she grabs a chair from the table and shoves it up against the refrigerator door. She steps up onto it, gripping the back for stability as it wobbles underneath her. Once she feels stable, she raises up onto her tiptoes to get a good look at whatever has been hidden.

Her face breaks out into a grin and she reaches forward, her hand wrapping around the stash of chocolate bars there. "Nice," she mumbles to herself, studying the labels. It seems like fairly fancy chocolate, luxurious and dark. Nicole figures that it's probably Mr. Graham's secret, guilty stash. She feels like she should _probably_ return these to the Grahams, but... that orange in dark chocolate looks really good. She hops off of the chair, deciding to allow herself a moment of selfishness. The chocolates go into one of the multiple side pockets, tucked safely away.

With the pack back over her shoulder, Nicole retreats to the dining room. It only takes a quick glance about for her to decide that nothing on her list is here, and there's nothing else worth taking. She goes to the living room next, pulling the scrap of paper back out of her pocket. She reads the titles of specific books that the boy had wanted. Putting the paper away once more, she leans down and gathers the books. For good measure, she grabs a couple of the toys as well. They only have two more houses on this block before they go back to the base, so she figures it won't hurt to grab a few extra things for him. This transition has been especially hard on the little kids, and comfort items will go a long way towards helping them adjust.

Before leaving the living room, Nicole grabs the photo album sitting in the coffee table drawer, putting that and the rest of the items in her pack. Next is the boy's bedroom. It's painted a soothing yellow, decorated with pictures of his family and what looks like a classroom picture. He has stuffed animals resting on his bed and piled in the corner. Dogs are featured most heavily, with frogs a close second. His favorite dog- an old, worn looking golden retriever- is tucked under the blanket with its head resting on the pillow. Nicole picks it up, cradling it gently to her chest. It's soft and floppy, and Nicole herself feels comforted by it. With the dog in hand, she picks up a few last books and toys before putting them away.

The office is quick; all that Mr. Graham had asked for was the wedding pictures. She sets her pack in his desk chair and picks up the couple of small frames. The couple looks genuinely happy, grinning at each other with stars in their eyes. Even when she had been talking to them, they had been sitting close, their hands clasped as they shared that same loving look. So many of the couples, the families that she's seen at the base, are tense and uncomfortable around each other. Part of her can't blame them, after all, stress can have that effect on a relationship. And the apocalypse is just about the most stressful thing she can think about. Still, it's nice to see such a cohesive family, one that's kept their love for each other even through these impossible months. 

She slips the picture frames into a safe pocket before moving onto the bathroom. Nicole doesn't really take any time to look at the pill bottles that she throws into her backpack. Doc had told her that anything helps, and she'd taken that literally. The medicine cabinet is completely empty when she's done with it. Next, she kneels down, opening the cabinet under the sink. There are boxes of medical tape, bandages, gauze, and she throws all of that into her pack as well. She grunts as she stands and swings the backpack over her shoulder. It's getting heavy, and Nicole mindfully focuses on why that's a good thing instead of focusing on her own slight discomfort. This, of course, is one of the tenets that Waverly had taught her during their early morning yoga sessions.

With the hint of a smile plastered on her lips, she returns to the front door. She can hear Dolls' footsteps above her again, but she only has to wait a few seconds for him to come back down the steps, his own pack hanging from his left hand.

"Hey. Anything down here for me?" he asks, his eyes darting away from her and into the living room. His axe has been placed back in its belt holster, although he rests his hand lightly on it. That's a habit of his that Nicole has noticed- outside of the base, he's never without his hand on a weapon. She appreciates his dedication to safety, his steely, unwavering focus when they're outside the relative safety of the base's walls.

"Yeah, I left some rice and flour in the kitchen for you. There are some coats in the hallway closet, too, if you want to grab those," she says, nodding. While she focuses mostly on food and medicine, Dolls tends to grab as much clothing as he can. He folds in that efficient, military-crisp method that allows for him to pack an entire wardrobe in a quarter of the space that Nicole would use. He nods and walks off wordlessly, reappearing a few short moments later with his pack on and the chest straps tightened.

He nods at her, and they walk out of the house together. Nicole sends one last lingering glance into the house before closing the door with a solid click.

\--

Nicole collapses onto her bed with a drawn-out sigh. After a moment of laying with her eyes closed, she drags herself up into a sitting position. She leans down, unlacing her boots and kicking them across the room. They collide with the opposite wall with a dull thud. Nicole is too tired to be bothered with putting them away neatly. It was a long, cold, stressful day outside the walls, and all she wants is to take a nap.

After the Graham's house, she and Dolls had run into a tangle of zombies. There were almost enough to overwhelm them, certainly enough to make her heart pound out of her chest and her breath to come in great, ragged gasps. They had managed to make it out unscathed, but they had to hide in an already-cleared house for a while until they were sure the danger had passed. By the time they got back to the base, Nicole was freezing and pissed off. Still, she had to drop off all of the medicine to Doc and all of the food to the kitchen when all she wanted to do was take a shower and collapse into bed.

Nicole pushes herself to her feet, grabbing the towel hanging off of the back of her desk chair. She drags herself to the bathroom and runs the shower. While she waits for it to warm up, she leans over the sink and brushes her teeth in an attempt to rid her mouth of the lingering, acrid taste of panic.

With that done, she steps into the shower. She hisses as the water hits her freezing skin. It takes a few moments for her to acclimate to the temperature, and once she does, it feels fantastic. This, right here, is probably her favorite part of the base. They're lucky enough to have their own power supply- solar panels, part of a program that the city was implementing before the outbreak- and their own water supply, allowing for them to keep running water long after most water had stopped flowing.

Nicole rolls her neck, letting the hot water massage the knot out of it. Although she's conscious that she shouldn't spend too much time in here, she allows herself a few more moments of luxuriating before quickly washing her hair and body.

She steps out of the shower, letting the tension leak out of her body like the steam in the air. Nicole towels her hair off, letting it fall to the floor once her hair is dry enough. It's getting a little long again, she notes. She'll have to ask Waverly to trim it soon.

Nicole opens the door, allowing the warm air to fill the bedroom. She walks to the closet, selecting a pair of sweatpants and a thick crewneck sweatshirt. Once dressed, she collapses back onto her bed and begins to run her hands through her hair, loosening the tangles.

A few moments later and she's laying back, already dozing off to sleep. And then she's startled back awake by a knock on her door. She takes a moment to clutch at her chest, to let her racing heart slow down.

"Goddamn," she mumbles, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and standing with a disgruntled sigh. She plasters on a polite, if not incredibly welcoming expression and crosses the short distance to the door. As soon as the door is open, though, her face melts into a genuine smile. "Oh, hi. Uh, come in, come in."

Waverly stands on the other side, grinning and bundled up in the thickest coat that Nicole has ever seen. Nicole opens the door wider, ushering the woman inside her room. "Hi! I was just about to go grab dinner and I came to see if you wanted to come with?"

Nicole closes the door behind her. "Sorry about the mess, I just got back a little bit ago. But, uh, yeah, I'll come along. Just give me a minute to get ready..." she trails off at the end, already shrugging her coat on and digging in the top drawer of her dresser for a pair of socks. She abandons any hope for a nap, but she finds it impossible to be annoyed with the circumstances.

Waverly perches lightly on Nicole's bed, running her hand across the ruffled edge of the blanket that Nicole had thrown back moments ago. "How was it outside today?"

Nicole shrugs, dropping into the desk chair to yank her socks on. "It was okay, mostly. Ran into a group of zombies when we were coming back, had to hide out for a while."

"You're okay, though?" Waverly asks, her eyes subconsciously flicking to the scar cutting through Nicole's eyebrow. She finds herself looking at that scar frequently, along with the other two on the side of her face. They serve as constant reminders of the very early days of the outbreak, of what they had been put through to get here.

"I am now," Nicole says, standing with her boots tied in secure double knots. She offers Waverly a small smile before her eyes light up as she suddenly remembers something. "In fact... I have something for you."

She kneels next to her backpack, digging into one of the pockets until her hand hits plastic packaging. She pulls it out, quickly hiding it behind her back as she stands and returns to Waverly. 

"Okay, eyes closed," she says, grinning at Waverly's good-natured eye-roll. Waverly does as she's asked, her head tilting up as her eyes fall shut. "Hands out, please," Nicole chirps, her grin widening as Waverly cups her hands in front of herself. She places the package in Waverly's hands as if it's the most delicate thing she's ever handled. "And... open."

Waverly opens her eyes, looking down at the small pack of Oreos that she's now cradling. She looks up, unable to keep the smile off of her face when she looks at Nicole's dimpled grin.

"Oreos are vegan," Nicole says, taking a nervous half-step away from her friend. She'd made it a habit to bring Waverly- and occasionally Wynonna- something back from her trips. She still gets nervous, though, waiting for Waverly's reaction to whatever she's brought her.

"You are... God, you're so sweet," Waverly says, shaking her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe that you're real."Nicole offers her hand to the smaller woman, her smile growing smaller and more intimate. "Well, I'm not going anywhere. You can start believing."

Waverly takes Nicole's hand, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She's standing close enough to Nicole that she can feel her body heat and smell the sweet vanilla of the soap she had just used. She's drawn in, completely enraptured with the sweet, sincere woman standing in front of her. This woman who is so completely dependable and dedicated, who has shown multiple times that she is willing to stand in the face of death to protect her. Nicole, who is brave and fearless and, above all, _good_. Waverly thinks that she's never met someone with a better heart than Nicole Haught.

"Nicole, I-"

"Hey, are we going to dinner or what?" The strong voice cuts through the heavy tension in the air and the two women startle away from each other. A second later, Nicole's door swings open and hits the concrete wall with a reverberating bang. Wynonna Earp stands there, dressed in a smirk and an absolutely extravagant faux-fur coat. She leans heavily against the door frame, and although she tries to play it off as a casual stance, both Waverly and Nicole can tell that it's because of the lingering weakness in her leg.

"Yes, I- uh, yeah," Nicole stammers, feeling her cheeks heat up as she puts a few more steps of distance between herself and Waverly. She snatches her belt off of the top of her dresser, ignoring the fact that the sweatpants and police belt combination looks utterly ridiculous. 

Wynonna snorts, watching both women brush past her with reddened cheeks and averted gazes. She's not going to pretend that she hasn't noticed the pair as they exchange longing glances and the way that both of them talk about each other goddamn constantly. Wynonna supposes that she can't begrudge either of them, though. Waverly deserves to be talked about in the star-struck way that Nicole does. She supposes, too, that Haught is... not horrible. 

She had been there in the medical building day after day, always armed with a dimpled smile and a helping hand. She was there even when all Wynonna had to offer was a snarl and a rejection of any help. Wynonna had felt vulnerable and weak, and she used those emotions to lash out at the well-meaning deputy.

Still, despite her own preoccupation, Wynonna could practically feel Nicole drawing into herself. She was becoming more and more closed off as time wore on. She had stopped smiling, stopped cracking stupid jokes about how she'd managed to get stuck in the middle of the weirdest family dynamic ever. And Wynonna had to admit that even though Haught's do-good attitude can be grating at best, it's preferable to the mopey, listless Nicole she had to deal with for those couple of weeks.

As soon as Wynonna had been given permission, she was out of bed and forcing Nicole or Waverly (and occasionally Rosita) to accompany her on slow walks around the fence. More often than not, she had chosen to drag Nicole along with her. Being out and having a task seemed to help her, but she was still so dejected that Wynonna decided to just take matters into her own hands.

When Wynonna felt strong enough- and angry enough- she had rounded on Nicole, shoving her back against the fence. Nicole hit the fence with a sputtered "Hey, what-" before Wynonna returned with another shove, causing the fence to rattle with the impact.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Haught? You've been fucking moping around here like a kicked puppy for the past three weeks and I'm fucking sick of it!"

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" Nicole had echoed with an incredulous scoff. "What the fuck is wrong with _you_? When are you going to learn to let people help you without snapping at them or- or fucking attacking them?"

"Oh-ho, nice deflection, Amanda Kessel."

"Don't throw hockey players at me like that," Nicole retorted, pushing herself off of the fence. "You wanna know what's wrong with me? What's wrong is that I have to sit around here for six months doing absolutely nothing!"

"Like you're the only one that has to sit around? I can barely walk, Haught. I got a bullet to my leg and now I can barely leave my bed. When I'm given permission to fucking walk, I have to take a buddy with me because I might pass out. I should be out saving my dad and my aunt from the apocalypse, but I'm stuck here. And I just have to deal with it, so it's time to put on your big girl panties and do the same thing."

"It's not enough, Wynonna!" Nicole had yelled, her hands flying up into the air. "I took an oath to serve and protect, but that all went to shit. I let my partners get eaten, I led you and your sister into a hell-scape and I let you get shot. At the hotel, I killed that entire girl's family in front of her and then left her there to die. All I have done is ruin lives."

Wynonna had scoffed, shaking her head slowly. She studied the woman in front of her, taking in her wild eyes that were filled with angry, unshed tears. She looked almost hunched over, like she was trying to fold in on herself to make herself disappear. "Are you delusional or just a massive idiot?"

"What?"

"I think I have my answer. Haught, you are a massive idiot. Without you, I'd probably be dead back in Purgatory. You got me to Waverly. How many times do we have to tell you that we wouldn't be here without you before you believe it? Fuck, Nicole, I... I need you around. You're my fucking friend, okay?"

Nicole had stared at her wordlessly for a moment before launching herself forward and enveloping Wynonna in a bear hug. Wynonna stayed still for a moment, a disgruntled and strangled noise escaping her lips. She relented, though, awkwardly patting Nicole's shoulders in an imitation of a hug.

"You're the worst, Haught," she had whispered, pushing the other woman away but keeping a grip on her arm to keep herself steady. "Ask Dolls to give you some busy work so you can be all... walking bumper sticker again. And, hey, please tell my sister that you're gay so she can finally stop wondering if you're a Natasha Lyonne situation, alright?"

Nicole had stammered before eventually giving up and just nodding dumbly. Wynonna had smiled, a quick flash of genuine affection before she plastered her normal scowl back on. "Good. Now please take me to get some more pain drugs before I scream."

So Wynonna approves of her. She might not love Nicole, but she's a damn sight better than anyone else Waverly has ever had eyes for. She reaches for the door handle, swinging it shut with yet another bang despite the glare Haught shoots her.

"I heard it's burrito night," Wynonna says, taking her sister's offered arm. "Wouldn't wanna miss that, eh ladies?"

"What does that even mean?" Nicole mumbles, shooting a side-eye at the Earp sisters. Wynonna still has a pronounced limp, although she's been dealing with it remarkably well. Ever since their admittedly hostile encounter at the fence, Wynonna had also dropped most of her pessimistic attitude. Occasionally, she seemed even happy to be here.

"You know what it means, Haught-pot."

"Wynonna, be nice."

"I am being nice!"

"Mmm, are you though?" Nicole asks, tilting her head to the side as she holds the door open for the sisters. Wynonna narrows her eyes at Nicole as she passes, throwing in a half-hidden middle finger for good measure. Waverly, on the other hand, offers Nicole an apologetic wince in an attempt to convey her embarrassment at her sister's childish behavior. 

They step out into the winter air together, their boots crunching on the newly-fallen snow. It had stayed warm until the third week of November, and then the snow had started to come down with a vengeance. In the weeks since, it hasn't stopped. It's bitterly cold, and Waverly leans into her sister to leech some of her body heat.

"I'm the peachiest person you have ever met, woman." Wynonna reaches over, attempting to grab at the mace on Nicole's belt. She jumps away, slapping at Wynonna's offending hand.

"Oh yeah? Did Doc tell you that?" Nicole retorts. "Call you a 'genuine Georgia peach'?" She affects Doc's accent, miming a tip of the hat and a sultry wink. The man had proven himself to be an ineffable flirt, trying his hand with both the Earp sisters, Nicole, and Rosita. 

Wynonna had snapped at him, telling him to take his spurs and kick himself in the ass with them. Waverly had chuckled and told him that her cowboy phase had passed long ago. Nicole had stared at him with wide eyes until he grinned and inclined his head towards Waverly, who had been occupied with the physical therapy routine they had created for Wynonna.

"I do believe I know the object of your affections, Deputy," he had said. Almost immediately afterwards, he had turned to Rosita with his twinkling eyes and his smooth speech. She had been more receptive than the rest of the group, although Nicole thinks that her aim was mostly to deflect attention away from the rest of them. None of them were complaining about that.

"I don't need Doc to tell me that I'm perfect. It's plain as day, Copper."

"Come on, you two." Waverly sighs. The interactions between the two never fail to baffle her. Half the time, they seem like they can't stand each other. The other half, they seem like they've been friends since childhood. 

She opens the door to the cafeteria, a small smile instantly crossing her face as the sounds of people chattering and utensils clanking reaches her ears. This is one of Waverly's favorite things about the base. She loves seeing people gather, safe and unafraid of the terror outside. As they walk towards the serving station, a couple of people wave at them or greet them. Wynonna had teased her for her 'smile-and-wave' routine, but Waverly had returned that with a lecture about how important it is to form personal connections in an unfamiliar setting. Wynonna, then still a captive audience, had wished that the bullet went through her brain instead.

Nicole, too, had become popular around the base. She was damn good at those recovery missions, and people knew that they could come to her if they needed anything. 

Wyonna was... less popular. Which was pretty standard, but at least this time she's sober so there haven't been any drunken bar fights to tank her reputation even further. She's still the same brash, loud, and often obnoxious Wynonna as she's always been, and that had managed to get her on a few people's shit lists.

After the three women grab their food- Wynonna was right, it is burritos tonight- they sit together at an empty table towards the front of the room.

"So, I was looking at the maps again," Wynonna begins through a mouthful of beans and rice. Waverly shoots her a withering glare and Wynonna rolls her eyes, but finishes chewing. "And I think I've found a good route down to Lonepine. I want to cut down through Purgatory. Just in case they... just in case they had the same idea and they're holed up at the Homestead."

Waverly lays her hand on her sister's arm, rubbing her thumb across it slowly. "We'll find them, Wy."

"I'll take a look at the maps with you later," Nicole offers. "Make sure you're not trying to bring us through a deathtrap."

Wynonna snorts, flicking a kernel of corn at the woman across from her. Nicole is tempted to do the same, but she doesn't want to face the disapproving look that she knows will come from Waverly.

"Oh, hey, did you decide what to do for the holidays with the kids?" Nicole asks, turning to Waverly. 

Waverly's face lights up instantly. Next to her, Wynonna mimes cutting her throat. "So, we found a lot of Christmas stuff in the storage rooms. Not much of any other holiday, but I think it would be fun if we could make our own decorations!"

Nicole nods, focused entirely on Waverly until sudden movement behind her catches her eye. A man had burst into the cafeteria, his chest heaving and his hands shaking as they clutch a rifle. "We need- we need everyone, fucking fast! Herd at the fence!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I got my final two wisdom teeth out on Wednesday and it is. a. drag. I haven't done much but sleep, watch Chopped, and write. Could be worse, I suppose.  
> Anyway- I hope you liked this chapter! Personally, it's one of my favorites. The aftermath of an apocalypse is so fascinating to me and I'm so happy to be exploring it. Let me know what you think!  
> Also- I made a twitter ages ago and never used it. So I revived it as sort of a writing journal. It's @memedreambean if anyone wants to hop over and listen to My Thoughts.


	11. The Judge In The Town's Got Bloodstains On His Hands

Nicole is the first person up and moving. She's glad now that she had grabbed her belt. She draws her service pistol, already starting towards the door and the young man standing there.

"Waverly, Wynonna, get everyone that can't fight back to the dorms. Get your guns, get them to the lounge, and barricade the doors," Nicole calls back to them. She's aware of the implication there, of the group of students they had seen trapped in the university dorm's lounge. Still, though, it's the safest place that comes to mind right now. Waverly nods, taking her sister's arm and moving to corral people into a group. "Anyone who can help, come with me."

The man at the door nods at Nicole. It's obvious to her that he's terrified. The wide eyes, the shaking, and the audible shudder in his breath indicate that. He's young, and Nicole imagines that he's in the same situation as Jeremy. Just a kid, thrown into this because he signed up for the Service Corps and got more than he bargained for.

"It'll be okay," she says, her voice low and serious. "But I need you not to panic, okay? If you're panicked, everyone else will panic and this will get much, much more complicated."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, nodding quickly. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, his grip tightening on his rifle. "No panic. Got it."

Nicole gives him a terse smile before turning to face the group that had formed in front of them. She looks over them- a group of about ten, all around her age or a bit older. She recognizes most of them, recognizes their children in the group that is gathered around the Earp sisters. 

Waverly looks up and catches Nicole's gaze. The look lasts for just a moment before Nicole forces herself to tear her eyes away. She can't stand to look at the desperation in Waverly's face. She can't stand the thought that that look might be the last she sees on Waverly's face. 

Nicole takes inspiration from the young man and squares her shoulders, drawing herself up to stand as straight as she can. A confident, self-assured stance. An attempt to convince herself that nothing can touch her, that shortly, she and Waverly and Wynonna and the rest of the base will be safe and fine.

These thoughts race by in a few short seconds before Nicole forces herself back to reality. She looks back over the people in front of her, their tense postures, the fear written so plainly on their faces. And she leads them. Like she's been trained to do.

The concrete walls of the cafeteria are thick enough to block out the cacophony outside. As soon as Nicole opens the door, though, she's hit with sound like it's a wall. The snarling sounds almost like a buzz, like if she was putting her head right next to an angry beehive. Above that, the erratic _pap-pap-pap-pap_ of tens of rifles being fired simultaneously.

It's worse than Nicole could have possibly imagined. Looking out across the couple hundred meters of asphalt that separate her and the fence, she feels sick. It's like a sea. A sea of writhing, gnashing, hungry bodies that have but one goal in mind.

Nicole is reminded of the time she was sent on a wellness check, a few years into her tenure as an officer. A woman had called them, concerned that she hadn't seen her elderly neighbor in days. When she had gotten there, there was no response. She had to bust the door down, and she found him dead in the kitchen. Heart attack. No family to speak of, no one except for the neighbors to eventually notice his absence.

It had been summer, and his house wasn't built well. Plenty of cracks in the foundation for insects to get through. Nicole had never seen that many ants before, and she never again had. It's fascinating and horrifying in equal measure to watch a mass of ants swarming. They look almost liquid, flowing against each other effortlessly. There's a certain grace in it, like watching the mesmerizing flow of clear water.

That is what this feels like. A massive, mesmerizing sight of something truly, utterly, inescapably horrific. She closes the door behind her as fast as she can, trying her damndest to prevent any of the children inside from seeing this. 

Dimly, in the back of Nicole's mind, everything that Waverly had said about hive mind and swarm intelligence echoed. A massive group, working together as one unified organism to achieve a common goal. In this case, getting at the live people in this base.

Nicole can't let that happen.

She shakes off the few painful seconds of staring at what is in front of her and snaps into a more analytical frame of mind. Scanning the fence line, she quickly finds Dolls by the medical building. With a yelled "Come on," she sets off at a sprint towards the man.

He has a rifle, shooting steadily out into the endless crowd of zombies. Everything about him screams discipline: his stance, the calm and collected way he squeezes the trigger, the fact that not one bullet misses its target directly in the middle of a corpse's forehead. Next to him stands Doc, looking for all the world like the picture of nonchalance. His hat sits cocked back slightly, a lit cigarette dangles from his lips. In each hand he has a pistol, and he is picking off zombies with the unhurried air of a sharpshooter at a clay pigeon range.

As soon as one goes down, though, another is immediately trampling over the fallen corpse to take its place.

"Dolls!" Nicole shouts, slowing to a stop on his other side. She raises her gun, slowing her breath before shooting one, then two zombies. The few others in her group with weapons join her. "We need to get these people weapons."

The man doesn't look away from the mass, barely moves a muscle aside from those required to target and shoot. "Rifles in the guard shack," he says, in-between perfectly placed shots.  
Nicole jerks her head to the side, to the tiny concrete box sitting at the edge of the gates. The unarmed in her group split off, running towards the box. They emerge moments later armed with rifles and handguns, shaking hands holding boxes of ammunition. They spread out, the closest to Nicole throwing her a box of bullets for her gun and another for Dolls's rifle.

Shooting them isn't hard, not at all. They're right there in front of them, pushed up against the fence, their fingers scrabbling desperately at the chain link. It is, for lack of a better term, like shooting fish in a barrel. But it's not working. No matter how many of them go down, more just keep coming.

Nicole glances around desperately. It's the same all down the fence line, though. Zombies going down as fast as they can be shot, new zombies filling that space as fast as they can move.

Okay. A different approach then. Nicole's eyes catch on the guard shack, and an idea sprouts. She holsters her gun, breaking into a run towards the box. Dolls snaps his head towards her, his eyebrows furrowing. 

"Haught!" he shouts, his eyes flicking rapidly between her and the encroaching mass of corpses. He squeezes off a few more shots. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Different angle!" she yells back, skidding to a stop at the guard shack. "You! Give me a boost." Nicole points at the man closest to the shack, startling him out of his panic-stricken tunnel vision. At his look of confusion, she points at the top of the guard shack.

He stands next to the side of the box, linking his hands together low to the ground. Nicole secures one booted foot in his cupped hands. He pushes up and Nicole pushes off of the ground at the same time, sending her into the air. For a moment, the sensation of leaving solid ground lurches in Nicole's stomach. Then, her hands slap onto the top of the concrete box and her chest collides with the edge of it, leaving her winded. Nicole scrambles onto the solid safety of the top of the shack, laying flat on her back for a moment to catch her breath.

She pulls herself to her feet, swaying slightly. Once she gets her footing, though, she again takes in the sight in front of her. She's maybe three meters off of the ground, but it's a radically different view than the one on the ground.

The other sides of the fence are clear, she notes. That hive mind has drawn them only to the front side. That's good, relatively. Their attention doesn't have to be split in multiple directions.   
From this point, she can also better gauge the size of the herd. It's maybe ten deep, spanning the entirety of the front fence line. Okay. Bad, very bad. There are probably thousands of them, and she has no confidence that they can put all of them down. 

Still, she shoots. She shoots at the back of the herd, dropping zombies struggling to advance in the mob. Another memory springs to mind: rookie duty, having to work as security for big festivals and concerts. Then, she had enjoyed watching people gathered in a huge group, focused on one thing in front of them, jostling against each other. Now? It's almost imminent doom. 

It's nearly meditative, though. She had always liked shooting. She had to recertify her firearm license regularly and pass departmental firearms tests on top of that. And she always felt a need to be excellent at everything, to impress whoever needed to be impressed. So she spent hours at the department's gun range, practicing until she was perfect with every gun she could get her hands on. And it was nice. She was alone down there more often than not, and it allowed her uninterrupted time with her thoughts. 

_Bang_. Another one down. _Bang_ - _bang_. Two down, dropping backwards onto the street. No zombies to take their places. She pauses, reloads, shoots until empty. Pauses, reloads, frowns at the number of bullets left in her box, shoots until empty.

And she thinks, all the while listening to a symphony of droning snarls and endless gunfire. When she runs out of ammo, she yells down to the man who boosted her. He throws up another two boxes, along with a rifle.

She switches to the rifle, breathing in time with its staccato bursts of fire. When she's reloading, she looks back to the fence line. And she stops.

Bodies are leaning heavily against the fence, the ones that weren't lucky enough to fall flat to the asphalt. It sags inward under the weight, lurching as yet more zombies relentlessly scramble up and over the fallen bodies of others of their kind.

Hive mind, huh? Creatures drawn relentlessly to the object of their desire, swarming upon it. They aren't going to stop unless they get what they want. Or, unless something even more enticing is offered to them. Nicole sighs. It's time to play the hero.

\--

It is eerily quiet in the lounge. 

Waverly is uncomfortable.

They had heard the raging sounds outside, of course they had. The kitchen exit faced away from the fence, though, so none of them had seen it. Waverly had made sure of that, hustling everyone along in a route that she knew would keep the fence out of sight.

They arrived at the dorms quickly, and as soon as the door was closed, the noises of whatever war waged behind them ceased. God bless concrete.

Following Nicole's instructions, the Earps had gone to their separate rooms to gather their weapons. Waverly slung her shotgun over her shoulder, tucked her pistol into her waistband, her knife into her boot. She grabbed her club for good measure. Similarly, Wynonna had Peacemaker hanging from her hip, her hunting knife alongside it. She had another revolver, although Waverly wasn't exactly sure where it came from. They were armed. Very well armed.

They gathered everyone in the building, their grave faces and even graver words sending some people to the fence and others to the lounge.

The lounge is large, large enough to fit the forty or so people inside of it. It was made less comfortable than usual, though, with all of the furniture shoved against the doors. Deputy's orders. 

Rosita is in the corner, sitting on couch cushions with a group of younger children. She's reading from a storybook, grinning at the kids affectionately as she flips the book around to show them the picture. Her eyes shine in the lantern light.

Wynonna is sitting on the floor, also with a group of kids. These ones are older, preteens and teenagers. She is, of course, sitting with her pant leg rolled up to show them the "gnarly-ass scar" she had been left with. Waverly has to give it to her sister. She knows exactly what will keep the attention of these kids.

Waverly is trying not to pace, trying not to let anyone on to the fact that there's a gaping maw of anxiety in the middle of her gut. She had seen the look on Nicole's face in the split second before she slammed the door shut. Waverly had never seen a stronger look of horror, of resignation. Whatever is out there, it's bad. As bad as could be.

She stands by the doors, peering through the gap in the barricade that allows her to look out the door's window. She can't see very far down the hallway, but it is comforting to know that nothing is out there. Idly, she picks at her nails, chipping away at the deep blue polish that Nicole had brought to her after one of her recovery missions. When all the polish is gone, she begins to chip away at the nails themselves.

"Hey, baby girl," Wynonna says, suddenly behind her sister with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Waverly turns around, offering her sister a tight-lipped smile. The rest of her body language is tense and closed off, though. Waverly crosses her arms tightly in front of her chest, her shoulders hunching towards the ground. 

"Hi, Nonna. Um, what did the kids think?" Waverly asks, gesturing to Wynonna's leg before returning her hand to its position, hugging herself securely. 

"Aw, you know kids. Show 'em something nasty and they love you forever." Wynonna chuckles before her face falls into a rare, serious expression. "You know she'll be okay, right? Nothing can touch that woman."

Waverly sighs, shaking her head despairingly. "She's too brave for her own good. She thinks that- that she has to prove herself to everyone around her. And God, she doesn't!" Her voice raises slightly, reaching an almost hysterical pitch. Waverly is, of course, a worrier. And there's nothing that she worries about more than the people she cares about. 

"She doesn't have to prove herself to _you_. But you're the exception to the rule, Waves. Every single person in her life has been so shitty to her. Her parents were negligent assholes who disowned her when she dropped out. That ex-wife of hers? I don't know how much she's told you about her, but that woman sounds like a grade-A bitch. She's always had to prove herself."

Waverly takes a deep breath, covering half of her face with one hand. She feels like she's about to burst into tears and this room feels far too small for her to be stuck in right now. It's been a long time since she's felt this panicked, even with everything that has happened in these past few months. Thankfully, Wynonna isn't a stranger to her sister's emotions. She wraps her arms around her little sister, pulling her close and squeezing tight. She presses a kiss to the top of Waverly's head, rubbing her hands against her back in soothing circles.

It takes a few moments for Waverly's quickened breath to return to normal. She sniffles softly, blinking away the very thought of tears. "You two have gotten close, huh?" Waverly asks, her voice small and unconvincingly casual. 

"Not nearly as close as you two," Wynonna says, pulling back from her sister just so she can see her teasing grin. "I swear, all she wants to talk about is you. _Oh, Waverly said that I look good in this shirt, oh, Waverly said that I'm a dumb lovestruck fool who should kiss her already!_ "

"Nicole does not sound like that!" Waverly gapes, slapping playfully at her sister's shoulder. The mood has effectively been lightened. Waverly looks down shyly, stammering over her question. "Do you... do you really think that Nicole likes me?"

"Oh my god both of you are the stupidest people on the planet. Of course she likes you, Waves. She is literally the least subtle person in the world." Wynonna sends her eyes skyward, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips. Waverly is far and away the smartest person Wynonna has ever met, but damn if she isn't obtuse sometimes.

Waverly smiles then. She feels almost embarrassed, ashamed? It feels wrong to be gossiping about her friend and the feelings she might have for her when they're barricaded under the threat of a horde of walking corpses. It feels very high school, like she's back in Chrissy Nedley's basement giggling over Champ and his friends. But at the same time, she feels giddy and a little bit normal.

"Listen," Wynonna says, lowering her voice as she leans in close to Waverly. "I... don't hate Haught. She's a good person, even if she's an annoying-ass narc. But if I have to hear you two boning while we're on the road, the biters are not going to be what you have to be scared of. Got it?"

"Wynonna!" Waverly shoves her sister, her cheeks heating up in an instant. Wynonna laughs harder than she has in months. "You're the worst!"

"Come on," Wynonna replies, grabbing her sister by the hands and pulling her away from the door. "I got you to stop moping, and now it's time to make those holiday decorations of yours. Santa awaits, Earp."

\--

"Dolls, I have a plan." The man grunts, shooting, shooting, shooting. "This isn't working and you know it." Another grunt. "I can get them away. I know how to."

" _What_ , Haught!?" he snaps, his head flying over to her. His nostrils are flaring, his breath is coming in great ragged bursts. He's scared. "What is your goddamn plan?""You won't let me if you know the whole plan," she whispers, the words almost lost in the noise around them. She shakes her head a fraction, a look of resignation written on her face.

"Then the answer is _no_. We'll figure something out."

"No we won't, Dolls. You know that. I need you to trust me, please. Do you trust me?"

He's silent for a moment, his eyes searching Nicole's. "Goddamnit," he mumbles, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "What do you need?"

"The truck. And for everyone to stop shooting. You'll know when."

"Haught," he begins, shaking his head. Nicole doesn't let him continue.

"I am not about to let all of these people die when I can do something to save them, alright? I need to do this. You need to let me."

Moments later, they're standing at the truck. The one that they had taken from the hotel that day. It had been parked on the right side of the base, close to another, smaller gate. They very rarely used it or any of the other vehicles they had, the noise of the engine too much of a risk unless they were going after vital supplies that couldn't be carried by hand. Unfortunately, this might be the last time this truck gets any use.

Nicole hauls herself into the driver's seat, throwing her rifle and stacks of ammunition boxes into the passenger seat. Dolls stands in the open door, the keys clutched in his hand.

"Okay, everyone is going to need to stop shooting and get out of sight as soon as I signal," Nicole says, leaning over to open the glovebox. She withdraws the stack of CDs from it, flipping through them before landing on one. Who doesn't love some good Reba?

Dolls stares up at her, his face schooled back into that unreadable expression that Nicole has come to know so well. "This is a suicide mission, Haught."

Nicole shrugs, feeding the CD into the stereo. Once done, she turns to Dolls. "I think that I'm due for a miracle." She holds her hand out. Dolls drops the keys into her palm, although he hesitates for longer than she would have thought. "But if I'm not... Tell Waverly, okay?"

"You're going to have to tell her yourself, Nicole."

She slams the door shut, starts the truck. For a moment, she leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes. She takes deep, grounding breaths. This is going to work. It has to work or Dolls is right, this is nothing but a suicide mission. The gentle crooning of Reba McEntire fills the truck and Nicole opens her eyes. She presses the skip button on the stereo until the song she's after begins to play.

Nicole nods at Dolls and he yanks at the gate, allowing it to slide open. Nicole guns it, shooting out into the street with a jolt. As soon as she does, she jerks the wheel to the left, turning the truck sharply towards the herd.

She rolls down the windows partially, not enough to allow any grasping hands into the truck. The music is quiet, barely loud enough for her to hear over the roar of the engine. Nicole hits the edge of the mob, swerving slightly to the right to avoid ramming directly into the zombies.

She reaches over and cranks the stereo as loud as it can go. Nicole jerks the wheel left again as soon as she reaches the end of the herd, landing herself behind them. She brakes a few meters away from the last row of corpses.

A few zombies turn, their milky eyes fixating on the noise coming from the truck. Not enough of them, though, the hive mind has them focused on the noise coming from the base.

Nicole lays on the horn, and seconds later she hears the shooting stop. Part of her hadn't expected Dolls to actually go through with this. Maybe he does actually trust her, then.

More and more of them begin turning, and Nicole smiles. She's offered them something more enticing.

Nicole presses the gas, sending herself in the opposite direction from the base. Behind her, the herd begins to follow.

_That's the night that the lights went out in Georgia_

_That's the night that they hung an innocent man_

_Well, don't trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer_

_'Cause the judge in the town's got bloodstains on his hands_.

\--

Nicole thinks that maybe she should have thought this part of the plan out better. She's miles away from the base, and she is surrounded by zombies. 

She had driven until she was unable, stopped by the tangled blockade of abandoned cars. Minutes after she had stopped, the zombies had surrounded her on all sides.

Currently, she's sitting and staring blankly out into the faces of dead people as they slam their hands desperately onto the body of the truck. Reba is still pouring her soul out into Nicole's ears, although quieter than earlier. She didn't need to attract the herd anymore, after all. They're already here.

She doesn't actually know if her plan worked, that's the thing. It certainly seems like there's an entire goddamn sea of zombies out there, but she doesn't know if she attracted enough of them away from the base. So she's been praying to a God she doesn't believe in. It's not the first time, and she hopes it won't be the last. The apocalypse, apparently, has a way of making anyone religious.

Nicole casts her gaze upwards. And then she frowns. Huh. She hadn't noticed the skylight before. Maybe this is her miracle.

She slides it open, standing as best she can in the confines of the cab. It takes some maneuvering, but she manages to get her head and shoulders through the skylight. Nicole cranes her neck around, looking at the sea of corpses she's landed herself in. 

Time for another half-baked, probably disastrous plan. Nicole drags herself through the skylight, ending up laying flat on her stomach on top of the truck. She reaches back down through the skylight, groping for her rifle in the passenger seat. She pulls it up, letting it smack down next to her with a thud. She pulls the skylight back closed and slowly gets up onto her feet.  
The truck sways slightly as the zombies reach hungrily for her, their hands clawing at metal and glass. She crouches low, trying to keep her balance despite her unsteady position. 

"Okay, okay, okay. This is... not much better," Nicole whispers, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. When they open again, she looks in front of her, to the blockade of cars. She was really good at long jump in high school track. 

Nicole slings her rifle securely across her back, standing again on shaking legs. She backs up a few tiny steps, allowing herself as much room as possible. And she runs, her feet leaving solidity after only seconds. Seconds later, her feet collide with the roof of the truck she was aiming for. She slips in the layer of snow, yelping as she loses her balance and falls forward. 

Nicole's chin bashes into the truck, the taste of blood immediately fills her mouth. She groans, blinking away the stars that swim in her vision. Her hand shakes as she raises it to her face. There's a gash in her lip, spilling crimson blood onto the snow in front of her. But she made it, and aside from the cut, she's fine.

Nicole's stomach lurches as a hand wraps around her ankle and yanks. Adrenaline rushes through her body, cutting through the fog of pain. She slams her hands down, finding purchase in the window well. 

She tries to pull herself forward, but the grip on her ankle is too strong. She cranes her neck again, trying to get a look at the corpse that has a grip on her. Its gnashing teeth are mere centimeters away from her foot. Thank fucking God for steel-toed work boots, though.

With her other foot, Nicole kicks at the zombie's head. When the kick connects, his snarls only intensify, angered by the action. "Fuck!" she yelps again, swinging her leg out of the creature's reach as he tries to go for it. She frees one hand, groping at her hip for her pistol. Even with the horrible anger and the adrenaline-fueled shaking, Nicole manages to get a good shot off. The hand goes limp, falling away from her ankle. Nicole scrambles up, panting and on the verge of tears.

She anticipates the snow-induced slipping now as she jumps to the next car, compensating for it by jumping a little too short. A quick glance behind her shoulder confirms that there are zombies following, but not nearly enough to overwhelm her. Even so, she takes aim and quickly puts the pursuers down. 

Only a few more cars, she tells herself. It's faster going now, they're close enough together that it's less of a jump and more of a large step. She clambers up on top of another truck, then gauges the distance between that and the storefront before her. She was pretty decent at high jump, too. And earlier in the day, a different angle had proven to be a good thing.

"Yep. This is, without a doubt, the worst idea I've had all day."

Nicole launches herself off of the roof of the truck, sending one more silent prayer as she flies through the air. Her chest slams into the side of the building, her hands slap onto the roof.

She pulls herself up, kicking one leg up and over the edge. She rolls onto the roof, clutching at her chest and coughing painfully.

"Oh, fuck," Nicole whispers, staring up at the darkening sky. She lays there, not even thinking about getting up. She wants to ignore the deep ache in her chest, and lying still is doing wonders for that. She's safe for now, at least. Trying to make her way back in the dark is such a bad idea that even Nicole isn't willing to try it.

The stars are gorgeous. That had always been one of her favorite things about being in the woods, the ability to see the night sky unimpeded by light pollution. It's one of the very few good things that has come from this. She thinks idly of all the people who had never before seen this, the entire galaxy stretching out before them like a dream. Her mind invariably turns to the people who never had, and never will have, the opportunity to see this.

Below her, Reba is wondering if there's life out there. Nicole snorts. She's also listening to that droning buzz of thousands of animated corpses. How's that for life?

Before long, it's completely dark, an almost oppressive blanket settling over Nicole. Despite the still-present life-threatening danger below her, she's deeply exhausted. And in pain. The searing pain in her chest has subsided some, but she knows that she'll have some serious bruising come morning. That's the norm now, though. Exhaustion and bruises.

Eventually, the exhaustion wins over. Nicole falls asleep on top of the roof with the sounds of country music and a herd of zombies filling her mind. 

When Nicole wakes, she finds herself in the grey light of early dawn. It's bitterly cold, and she has to brush a fine dusting of snow off of her coat as she sits up. Her chest aches, but she ignores it.

It takes her a moment to realize what exactly is wrong. Everything is silent. She had fallen asleep to music so loud it almost ached. Now, though, there's nothing. Not even the snarl of a zombie.

She scrambles to her feet, rushing to look over the edge of the building. The street is empty. The truck has gone silent, either out of gas or out of battery. She looks down the street towards the base, but she sees nothing. When she looks the other way, though, she can just barely see the receding mass of the herd. She did it. All of her ridiculous plans had actually somehow worked. 

Nicole sits down on the edge of the building with her legs dangling in the air. And she cries. With great, gasping sobs, she lets out all of the anguish and despair and certainty that she was staring her last few hours on Earth right in the face. It's so cold out that the tears almost freeze on her face. They sting as they run down her cheeks, leaving them red and blotchy.

When the tears finally stop, she stays sitting there for a few more moments. She thinks that maybe she was due for that miracle after all.

Nicole stands, brushing snow away from the backs of her legs. She walks over to where she had slept, gathering her rifle and her service pistol. With both guns in their respective places, she returns to the edge and looks over. She frowns, though, not liking her chances of making it to the ground without a broken ankle. On the alley side, she finds a dumpster that she can drop down onto with relative safety.

She jumps down, grunting as a slight shock of pain stabs through her legs. Every inch of her body is freezing, numb. It's going to make the trek back to the base near-on impossible, but she isn't willing to risk the noise that driving a car would generate.

On exhausted, numb legs, Nicole begins walking back to the base. To her home in the people that she's come to know and love deeply.

It takes hours. She'd underestimated just how far away she had gotten from the base, just how hard it is to walk when she probably has frostbite. She has to stop multiple times, leaning against a building to catch her breath.

By the time she limps up to the gates, the sun is high in the sky and Nicole's energy and motivation have sunk down into the strata of the earth. The piles of corpses are still lining the fence, pushing the chain link in uncomfortably.

There are so many bodies. Nicole looks at them with sorrow, pausing meters away from the uncertain safety of the base. 

People are shouting, and Nicole is aware of that. She either can't or doesn't bother to decipher what they're saying. She's too focused on the bodies in front of her, of the dark, almost black blood running in rivers through the snow.

There's a hand on her shoulder, another on her opposite arm. She attempts to tear her gaze away and focus on them, but she finds herself unable to do so.

Then she's being pulled along, and more familiar voices splice through the fog that her brain is in. Her gaze shifts as she's moved, and she comes to more of her senses as the mass of corpses leaves her vision. Doc is in front of her then, his hat off and an utterly frantic look on his face. The hands previously guiding her leave, replaced by Doc's. He rips his long coat off, draping it around her shoulders. She doesn't think that it really makes her any warmer, but it's nice anyway.

He guides her into the medical building, with its familiar rows of cots and dim lantern light. There's almost never anyone in here, just Doc and occasionally Rosita when he needs a hand.

Doc leads her to a bed, laying her down with a whispered "Nicole, you damn fool."

Her vision goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha oops. Can Nicole please get a break?? In any case, next chapter will be lighter. I promise some nice Christmas vibes! The gang deserves it after This.  
> Let me know what you think down below! Or on my twitter, @memedreambean.  
> Happy Hanukkah
> 
> and happy birthday Taylor Swift. go stream evermore (no body, no crime is an absolute murdering-a-douchebag bop along the same vibes of the night the lights went out in Georgia)


	12. Let's Go Below Zero and Hide From the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Nicole's plan + some holiday cheer.

"My best friend almost died, motherfucker. We don't even know if she's gonna keep all ten toes. Tell me why in the ever-loving name of the Virgin _fucking_ Mary you let her outside the gates."

Dolls ignores her. He pushes past her, hunching over the keypad that locks the masses out of his precious administrative building. A few beeps later, and the door is swinging open and he's attempting to push through before Wynonna has the chance.

What he underestimates, though, is the power of an angry Earp. And when you get two of them together, they're practically unstoppable. Waverly had been on his other side, quiet and sullen. He had almost forgotten that she was there, and as a result, forgotten to ward against the smaller and more agile Earp. She slinks past him, putting herself firmly in the hallway, in his path.

He growls in frustration, about to grab hold of Waverly to force her out of the building. Wynonna is one step ahead of him mentally and one step behind him physically. She shoulders her way into the hall, yanking the door shut behind her. She shoves at Dolls' shoulder, dislodging the hand that had landed on Waverly's shoulder. 

"I think we deserve to know what's going on here, too, Deputy Marshal," Waverly spits, crossing her arms as she stares up at the glowering man. "Why all the secrecy? You're the only person allowed in this entire building. How much more secret agency bullshit are you hiding in here?"

"You do not get to police what I do or reveal within the parameters of my mission," he snaps, his eyes flicking between the two sisters, who have moved to stand next to each other. Each woman is a perfect picture of rage, staring at him with barely concealed disdain. "And I don't police the people who live here. Nicole is a grown woman and I can't tell her what to do."

"Oh, fuck you," Wynonna says, sneering at him. "You tell everyone around here what to do. That's the 'parameters of your mission', isn't it? Keeping us all in line like good little sheep?"

"Goddamn it, do you think I _wanted_ to let her pull that stunt? Haught is the best soldier I have here! If she had told me explicitly what she was doing, I would have stopped her.” He slams his fist down onto his leg, his jaw clenching and an angry vein popping out on his temple.

Waverly practically pounces on him, jamming her finger into the middle of his chest. “She is not a _soldier_! She’s a person, not some thing that you get to play around with. None of us here are soldiers, Dolls. The moment that all of this started, we all became just... people. Scared and desperate _people_.”

Waverly whirls around, stalking out of the building. She leaves nothing but the slam of the door and the heavy air of loathing.

Wynonna and Dolls are left in the hallway- lit by actual ceiling lights instead of the customary lanterns, Wynonna notes- both glaring at each other.

"You have no idea how hard this is, Earp. I have been made responsible for over one hundred people. Their lives are on my hands. No matter how much I may like a person, one life is not worth the lives of everyone else. Sometimes we need to make sacrifices."

Wynonna shakes her head, scoffs dismissively. "Sure, Dolls. Tell yourself whatever you need to make yourself feel better."

"Get out."

"Already on it, douche-canoe." Wynonna wants to storm off, but her limp prevents her from her own melodrama. She can still slam the door, though, and she does exactly that. Behind her, Dolls seethes with the implication that he isn't doing his job. With a frustrated growl, he turns to the wall and slams his fist into it. 

He lets his hand drop to his side, his knuckles aching and dripping spots of blood onto the floor. The Earps don't trust him at all, he's known that since day one. Nicole, though, seemed to have been growing to trust him. They work well together in the field. Nicole is reliable and consistent, never complains about the tasks that she's given. But she's also stubborn, headstrong, almost completely unwilling to listen when she gets one of her heroic ideas.

He's afraid that the Earp sister's righteous anger is enough to overturn that budding trust. A lack of trust, especially from someone so popular with the rest of the base, could be potentially disastrous. If people find out that Nicole doesn't trust him, then none of them will trust him. He's already worried about what will happen when Nicole and the Earps leave in the spring. 

It really is hard to keep a base with this many people stable, especially in a crisis situation. The snow has been driving tensions up, making people feel cooped in and restless. The amount of arguments and budding fistfights that he has had to defuse is growing. After yesterday, tensions are even higher. Parents have been coming to him all day wondering if their children are safe. Fence guards have been hounding him about increased safety measures and getting the bodies away from the fence, disposing of them somehow.

And, of course, the Earps. After Nicole's signal and the subsequent retreat, Dolls had to break the news about Nicole's leaving to the Earps and Rosita. Wynonna had, of course, exploded in a tirade similar to the one she had just unleashed moments ago. Waverly's eyes had welled up with tears and she clung to her sister's hand, which was the only thing keeping Wynonna from hitting Dolls. Rosita had stared at him, cold and hard, before turning away from him.

He left them wordlessly, cutting Wynonna off in the middle of her rant. The only reason she didn't chase him down was to comfort her sister. Truth be told, she needed some comfort herself.

Dolls had heard that Nicole was back almost as soon as the guard found her. She had tracked him down under Doc's orders and told him, saying that Nicole looked almost like a biter. She would have shot Nicole if she hadn't recognized her. 

Doc had rushed a semiconscious Nicole into the medical building, and then he rushed to get her out of her wet, freezing clothes. He started with her boots and socks, well aware of the horrible possibility of frostbite. Her toes were numb and hard and that same bone-pale color. Frostbite, but not yet to the point where her flesh was dying, turning an ominous black. Her fingers had fared only slightly better.

With the rest of her outerwear off, Doc had wrapped her in a thick woolen blanket. He was in the process of filling a storage tub- its contents tipped out onto the floor- with hot water when the door was plowed open. Dolls had stood there, an unprecedented look of concern on his face. He kneeled next to the bed that Doc had Nicole laying on, his breath shuddering as he took in her sickly appearance. 

Doc approached with the tub, shooting the Deputy Marshal a suspicious glance. After Dolls told them what had happened, Rosita had left the lounge to help Doc with any of the various minor wounds that may have resulted from the shootout. Doc, after a long stretch of Rosita's incredibly loud silence, had finally asked what was wrong. She had recited Dolls's blank account of what had happened to Nicole with emotion she isn't sure the man possesses.

Doc had seen a different picture, though, as he watched the man kneel in front of Nicole. He looked truly upset.

"Help sit her up," Doc had said, setting the tub on the ground. Dolls did so, wrapping one arm around her waist and hoisting her into a sitting position. He shivered as their skin brushed together lightly where the blanket had fallen away. Nicole was well and truly freezing, colder than he had ever felt a person before. "In cases of frostbite, warm water baths are incredibly useful in reducing the risk of dead tissue."

Dolls knew this, of course, but in stressful situations, Doc tends to recite the medical theory he's using to calm his nerves.

With gentle hands, he settled Nicole's feet in the water. It came up to her ankle, and normally it would have been soothing. But the sudden temperature differential was no doubt uncomfortable, and Nicole had mumbled something vaguely. Her face contorted, her eyes fluttered open and shut rapidly.

"I know, darlin'," Doc whispered as he grabbed her freezing hands tightly. "We're gonna get you warm, you hear? And then I'm not lettin' you leave this damn bed until you stop doing stupid bullshit."

"Is she going to be okay?" Dolls had asked, his eyes wild with worry. Doc had hummed noncommittally as he pushed hair out of his eyes.

"That is something only time can tell us, Deputy Marshal. Frostbite can cause long-lasting nerve damage that doesn't always present immediately. If there is any truly significant damage to her extremities, amputation is certainly a possibility."

He stood then and went back to the shelves to dump another storage bin out and fill it with warm water. When he had returned, he gently set the bin on Nicole's lap, then guided her hands into it. She had whimpered, her eyes desperately darting across his face. Doc's heart had broken at the heavy fog of pain present. 

Then the Earps had arrived, and Dolls was all but forcibly removed. Wynonna had (again) yelled at him until he was frustrated enough to give up. Waverly had taken his place holding Nicole, and it didn't surprise anyone that she seemed to help Nicole settle. Wynonna was sent to the cafeteria to retrieve hot broth to try to rectify Nicole's severe dehydration.

Dolls had been in and out after that, checking up on Nicole in the brief moments that simmered before Wynonna tired of his presence and snapped at him to get out. She's been sleeping fitfully, redressed in dry clothing and wrapped in mounds of blankets.

Back in the hallway, Dolls sighs. He'll have to wrap his hand up. It’ll be a pain to type up his reports like this.

\--

Wynonna storms out of the building huffily, feeling some modicum of pleasure at the bang of the door slamming behind her. Her sister is just steps away from the door, pacing with her arms crossed tightly. She turns when she hears the door, letting her arms drop.

"Hey," Waverly says quietly, holding out her arm for Wynonna to take. She does so, leaning against her sister heavily. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing important," Wynonna says, pursing her lips into a tight line. "Just more bullshit." Waverly hums in response. Wynonna takes her sister's expression in, her own turning dour. "When was the last time you got some sleep, baby girl?"

Waverly shakes her head, a small sigh crossing her lips. "I'm fine. Let's get back, yeah?"

"Waves," Wynonna says, her voice turning to the soft, gentle tone that she only uses with her sister. "You need to get some sleep, okay? Before you crash out. I'll look after her."

Waverly doesn't answer for a moment. She looks down, feeling vulnerable under Wynonna's calculating gaze. She was completely unable to sleep last night, too preoccupied with her runaway anxieties about what may have happened to Nicole. There are deep purple bags under her eyes, which themselves are shot through with red. Wynonna is right, and she knows it. Pushing herself won't do anything to help Nicole.

"Just for a little while," Waverly says, nodding reluctantly. "If anything changes come get me, please."

"Of course I will."

Waverly walks her to the medical building, fighting the urge to just go in there anyway. But Wynonna knows how to read her sister well, and she presses a kiss to the top of her head before pushing her away gently.

"Go, Waves."

She does after watching her sister enter the building. Their collective group spends far too much time there, and Waverly hates it. She doesn't truly feel safe here. They aren't self-sufficient, not really. The base doesn't have nearly enough supplies for the amount of people here, so those goddamn missions are necessary. They've been having to go further and further away, and it's not safe. People come back hurt, they come back with groups of zombies trailing them. Sometimes, they don't come back at all. Those are the worst; the waiting and the uncertainty as family and friends have to settle with the reality of the situation. 

She offers a couple of people waves and weak attempts at smiles on her way back to the dorms. It is nice to be around so many people, she has to admit. It makes her feel secure, even if it's a tenuous sort of security. She knows that large groups present a unique sort of danger- if someone dies on base and they don't catch it before they turn, it would be a disaster.

Still, Waverly can't deny the pull that she feels towards community. There are so many kids on base, and although she's used to working with college students, being able to teach feels good. All the parents on base had agreed that some sort of normalcy would help the kids adjust, and Waverly was more than willing to help. After weeks of trying to teach kids math, though, she has to admit that she misses her university courses.

Waverly steps into the dorms, and the rush of warm air that greets her is an incredible comfort. They don't use their limited power supply for much, mostly refrigeration and whatever Dolls apparently needs electricity for in the admin building. The dorms get heat, though, to prevent death by way of freezing. Waverly still isn't exactly warm most of the time, but it's still a far sight nicer than being outside. 

Her room- and Wynonna's room, which is right next to hers- is close to a side entrance. There aren't as many people down this way, so it's fairly quiet and private. Wynonna prefers the quiet, and it just ensures that they spend most of their time in each other's company. Nicole, when she’s not off-base, is usually also with them.

Waverly pulls her boots off, setting them neatly by the door. Her coat is next, and she hangs it off of the back of her chair before sitting on the edge of her bed. It's piled high with blankets to offset Waverly's constant chill. 

She peels the blankets back, settling herself comfortably into the bed. Waverly lays there staring at the blank white ceiling, trying to force herself into sleep. It proves more difficult than she had hoped, and her mind eventually turns to Willa. 

Often, when she's alone at night, Waverly begins to think of her oldest sister. She wishes that she had just been able to see her one last time, to talk to her. To say goodbye and to forgive her for those terrible years they spent refusing to talk to each other. They'd apologized to each other dozens of times over more than a dozen years, but both of them had still carried guilt over that lost time. 

She wishes that Willa were here. She was always strong-willed and unafraid to make decisions. She thinks that Willa would have liked Nicole. Her sister had a penchant for people like Nicole: just as strong-willed as her, loyal, kind-hearted. 

Waverly thinks that Willa wouldn't have been as scared as she is herself. She would have known what to do, and she would have put on a brave face and figured something out if she didn't know what to do. That was always what she did. Willa was the one who helped Waverly apply for scholarships when she was worried about paying for college. She was the one who Waverly turned to when she needed advice about a friend or a date. 

They could sure use someone who knows more than the barest first aid, too. Wynonna's idea of healthcare is downing a few shots of whiskey and calling it good. Waverly knows the basics, as does Rosita. Neither of them are exactly professionals, though. Nicole has the most training, although she doesn't seem fully comfortable with it. Willa, though? She was a genius when it came to medicine. Nursing came easily to her, and Waverly always thought that she could have made a wonderful doctor. Willa had always smiled wryly and winked, saying that there was only room for one doctor in the family. 

When Waverly eventually falls asleep, she dreams of her sister.

\--

It takes Nicole the better part of a week to feel up to getting out of bed for any significant stretch of time. She's been cheerful, though, going so far as to gently admonish Waverly and Wynonna for their anger towards Dolls.

"He's right," she had said, interrupting both women when they immediately began to protest. "He couldn't tell me what to do. I didn't even tell him what I was planning. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me."

Wynonna had retorted with an "I am mad at you!" She had leaned over and punched Nicole's shoulder, albeit much more gently than she normally would have. Waverly had smiled, a sad twinkle in her eyes. She was holding one of Nicole's hands in both of hers. She had returned to a normal body temperature, but she still felt cold constantly. Much colder than the the warmth Waverly usually feels emanating off of her. There had been a thick blanket draped around her shoulders, and Waverly's hands felt positively blazing to her. The way she had gently stroked her fingers across Nicole's palm told her that she wasn't mad.

By the time that Doc is willing to let Nicole out of the medical building, it's almost Christmas. Waverly, when she wasn't spending time with Nicole, has been decorating the base with the kids. They had even dug up some old strings of lights and gotten reluctant permission from Dolls to hang them in the cafeteria and the dorm lounge. The colorful twinkling of the lights is downright enchanting.

Waverly has always loved Christmas. Alcohol was virtually banned from the Homestead, so Ward was forced to spend the entire day sober. He was always much kinder when he was sober, and even he couldn't resist his daughters and their Christmas cheer. She couldn't remember Christmases with her Mama, but the pictures that were tucked away in dusty albums painted a joyful picture. 

Her favorite Christmases were the ones spent with Uncle Curtis. He would sing carols to her in his deep, soulful voice and sneak her extra cookies with a playful wink. And he always gave her such wonderful gifts.

So this isn't necessarily her _best_ Christmas. She's making the most of it, though. She is absolutely determined to do so. They had already celebrated Hanukkah for the handful of people that observed it. It had gone rather well, and Waverly loved to watch the traditions unfold. She watched the lighting of the hanukiah every night, and she was even joined by Nicole on the last few nights.

Christmas is just a few days away now, and Waverly is nervous with anticipation. She watches as a little boy hangs a tiny plastic ornament on the minuscule tree they had found in storage. It's maybe half a meter tall, perfect for the little kids to decorate. Waverly smiles, handing a silver ornament to a little girl. She steps up to the tree, staring at it intently to find the perfect spot for her ornament.

Next to Waverly, Nicole chuckles. "I bet that's what you're like," she says, her voice low and gravelly, so close to Waverly's ear. A shiver runs down her spine, and Waverly has to take a moment to compose herself before replying so her voice doesn't shake like a leaf. 

Waverly leans back in her chair, tilting her head back just slightly so she can speak as close to Nicole as she had done. Nicole is sitting just behind her and to the side, her feet stretched out and resting on another chair in front of her. "Balance is very important when it comes to decorations, Nicole. An unbalanced Christmas tree is basically a sin."

Nicole's hand comes to rest on Waverly's shoulder, her thumb grazing against the side of Waverly's neck. If Waverly turns her head to the side ever so slightly, Nicole's lips are right there. So close, and just so tempting. And that grin that Nicole wears, the one where her dimples pop out like fine art on display, is equally tempting.

"Miss Wav'ly, can I have another?"

Waverly squeezes her eyes shut. She takes a long breath, releases it, and tilts her head back down with a kind smile.

"Of course!" She grabs another ornament from the small box by her feet and holds it out by its string loop. "Here you go, honey." The boy takes it from her, his face lighting up in a grin that almost makes up for the interruption. Almost.

Nicole clears her throat, leaning back in her chair. She adjusts the blanket in her lap, her gaze trained intently down on it. "I'm starting to think that I should make a list of normal things that you and your sister consider sins. Starting with unbalanced Christmas tree decorations."

"And continuing with the entire concept of chili cheese dogs."

"They're good!"

"They're so _American_."

"I'm American."

Waverly scoffs as she hands yet another ornament to yet another child. "You've lived in Canada for longer than you lived in America. It's time to put chili cheese dogs behind you."

Nicole returns her gaze back to Waverly's, a small, fond smile playing across her face. "Some things are just too good to resist, Waverly."

Waverly's eyebrows quirk together. She's almost certain that the topic has moved on from the true tragedy of chili cheese dogs. Nicole sometimes gets this soft look in her eyes, like every star in the night sky has decided to take up residence in her gaze. That look has become more and more frequent, and it's always directed at Waverly. She's smart enough and experienced enough to know exactly what that starstruck gaze means, and every time she sees it, her heart melts.

She knows that her gaze is just as soft and just as starstruck as she looks up at Nicole. "Yeah. Some things are."

Nicole's eyes flick away, she bites her bottom lip. "So, um... I got you something. A gift."

"Nicole," Waverly starts, a softly chiding tone in her voice. "You know you didn't have to do that. And I- I don't have anything for you."

"Well, it's not really traditional gift-giving. I just kind of steal stuff from people's houses," Nicole says, giving Waverly a conspiratorial wink. "Under normal circumstances, I would have to arrest myself."

"So naughty," Waverly whispers, affecting a scandalized look. Nicole's surprised, sputtering laugh was exactly the reaction she was hoping for. Her cheeks are just about as red as her hair, and Waverly silently cheers herself on.

Nicole is both relieved and disappointed when they get a flood of children hounding them about ornaments. Waverly eventually has to stand, leaving her supervisory position to help the kids hang the banners that they had made. Nicole watches with that gentle smile, feeling an odd sense of domesticity as she watches the scene before her.

Waverly seems so at home with the kids, and it's obvious that she loves the holidays. Her parents had never been big holiday people, and Nicole had always felt left out because of it. She craved holiday traditions. Listening to bad Christmas music on a loop while decorating a tree or baking cookies always sounded like the perfect way to spend a winter evening. When she had gotten married, she had hoped for those traditions. Without fail, Shae had to work endless hours during the holiday season. Even when she wasn’t scheduled, she picked up shifts for other doctors. She had told Nicole that she wanted to allow them to spend the holidays with their families. Nicole thinks that was probably the beginning of the end of their relationship.

So compared to that, Waverly's enthusiasm and holiday cheer feels like the home she's always wanted. Just being here with her, even in this friendly- well, flirty- capacity, feels more like family than anything she's ever had. She wants to live in this warm and cozy feeling.

The zombies, though, those she could do without. The mere thought of the word sends a shiver through her entire body, and it's a far cry from the pleasurable shiver she feels when her skin brushes against Waverly's.

Nicole goes still, her eyes glazing over and focusing on some point far off in the distance. She feels vaguely ill, like there's something gnawing at the lining of her stomach. The slight tingling that still lingers in her limbs seems stronger, more pronounced. She finds herself back in that truck, back in the sickening sway caused by hundreds of hands trying to get at her. Trying to claw her to pieces. Then, the memory of a freezing, oozing hand wrapped around her ankle. 

Then, a hand on her shoulder. This is completely unexpected, not a part of the memories that keep coming back on a loop- and it startles her. She jumps back, her feet hitting the floor. The chair her feet were resting on hits the floor as well, the force of her jumping sending it backwards.

"Nicole! Nicole, sweetie, you're okay. Can you focus on me?" A hand on her chin, a thumb stroking gently across her jaw. Nicole's eyes focus slightly, enough to tell that the voice in front of her and the hand on her face belongs to Waverly. "That's it, yeah. You're okay. You're safe. I've got you."

Nicole can tell that she's tense and that her breath is coming in quick, sharp gasps. She can tell that the kids are looking at her, but with a sober attitude that would be unexpected of them if not for how quickly they've had to grow up.

She can tell that the events of that day have broken something inside of her. Being surrounded like that, watching for hours as the walking corpses of people she had once sworn to protect migrated together had broken something. 

Nicole knows logically that she went through a traumatic event mere days ago and that it's completely normal to still be shaken up. She knows that she'll probably end up with some PTSD from all of this. But all she can feel is that she's _broken_.

Waverly's hand moves away for a moment. She waves one of the older kids over- she's probably 15- and asks her to watch over the younger kids for a minute.

With gentle hands, Waverly pulls Nicole out of the chair. Nicole feels guilty. She knows that she's ruined the moment, that Waverly shouldn't have to stop having a good time to take care of her because she's just so broken. But that's the exact type of thing Waverly would roll her eyes at and dismiss as silly.

Nicole’s room is relatively close to the lounge. Close enough that it only takes a couple of minutes for Waverly to guide her dazed friend there, even with her walking speed hindered by the lingering numbness in her feet. Doc had said that the numbness might not go away for weeks, and that's shaping up to be true.

Waverly guides Nicole to sit on her bed and stands in front of her, brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. Nicole seems more aware now, away from the uncomfortably watchful eyes of so many other people. She leans away from Waverly's touch, just enough for it to be noticeable. 

"Hey," Waverly whispers, withdrawing her hand in an effort to ensure she doesn't push any boundaries. This is a delicate situation, and the last thing she would want is to make Nicole even more uncomfortable right now. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Nicole shakes her head. Waverly moves to sit on the bed, keeping a few inches between them just in case. She places her hand in the space between them, an offering of comfort that Nicole can take if she so chooses.

She does. It's after a long stretch of silence and stillness, but her hand eventually inches over to cover Waverly's.

"I just keep remembering them all," Nicole says, her voice small and achingly sad. "All of their faces are just there all the time. And the worst thing is, there are so many faces that I can't remember them all. And I just feel so guilty."

"Nicole," Waverly says, shifting to face the other woman fully. Nicole still doesn't look up fully, but her eyes do flicker over to Waverly for a split second. Waverly flips her hand over, linking their fingers together in a tight hold. "I'm so sorry. I know that this is all so impossible, and I'm so sorry that I can't do more to help you."

"I shouldn't need help. I'm supposed to- I don't know, have it all together. I’m not supposed to be falling apart like this.” Nicole sounds so utterly defeated. Waverly can feel her heart breaking in time with Nicole’s words. 

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Waverly says, reaching out with her free hand to gently trail her fingers along Nicole's jaw. To Waverly's relief, the touch is well-accepted and Nicole leans her face more fully into it. "Honestly. I am so... in awe of you, every single day. You've managed to stay strong and brave throughout all of this, when most people fell apart instantly. You kept all of us safe. Nicole, you saved every single person in this base." Waverly pauses, shaking her head slightly. There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she quickly blinks them away. "You can let yourself be weak for a while. Just... feel what you need to feel, and don't try to force it away. I'll be right here with you for as long as you want me."

Nicole pulls her hand away from Waverly's, and for a moment she takes it as a rejection. Her heart drops and she's about to apologize for overstepping when Nicole wraps her arm around Waverly's waist and lays her head down on Waverly's shoulder.

Waverly wraps her arms around Nicole's shoulders in turn, pulling her close. Nicole sniffles softly, and Waverly can feel tears where Nicole's face is nestled in the crook of her neck.

"You're too good," Nicole mumbles after a few moments. Her voice is muffled in Waverly's neck. The vibration of Nicole's voice tickles Waverly's neck, and she huffs out a breathy laugh. "I'm not kidding. I'm really lucky that I met you."

"No, I'm just, uh, ticklish," Waverly says, pulling gently at Nicole's shirtsleeve to get her to move away slightly. Instead, she can feel Nicole smiling against her skin as she tightens her arm around Waverly's waist.

"Well, that's good to know," Nicole says, her voice low and rough. Her lips move against Waverly's skin in a way that feels decidedly deliberate, and Waverly can't breathe.

"If this is-" Waverly gasps softly, almost certain that Nicole can feel her pounding heart, "-an attempt at flirting, there are easier ways to do it."

Nicole finally lifts her head, and despite her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, she's still the most gorgeous person that Waverly has ever laid eyes on. "It's not just an attempt," she whispers, getting that starstruck look again. "But I think you know that."

Waverly nods microscopically, her eyes darting between the endless depths of Nicole's honey brown eyes and her lips, which always look so soft and inviting. Nicole's tongue darts out and wets those lips, and Waverly is certain that she's actually in heaven right now.

"Are you sure?"

Waverly nods again, and Nicole's hand gingerly trails up Waverly's arm, landing on her shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans in slowly, allowing plenty of time for Waverly to change her mind and pull back if she wishes. That, though, is the opposite of her wishes.

Waverly was wrong before, when she thought that she was in heaven. Just looking at Nicole feels like hell compared to the heaven that actually kissing her is. Nicole is just as gentle and soft as Waverly has imagined. She sighs into the kiss, a soft whimper betraying the true emotion that is being conveyed. Longing, desperation, even love if Waverly were to be that honest with herself.

Normally, Waverly would be embarrassed by her own reaction. Given the circumstances, though, she figures that it's perfectly normal to grab the front of Nicole's shirt in tight fists and pull her until she's settled over Waverly with as much contact as possible.

Nicole breaks away from Waverly with a barely-stifled gasp, her heart racing just as quickly as the other woman's is. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is ruffled from where Waverly's hands had found purchase.

"I- you..." She trails off, a dopey grin spreading across her face. Below her, Waverly begins to giggle.

"Yeah, I agree."

Waverly pulls Nicole back down, their lips and their hearts meeting as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate chili cheese dogs. And I love how the medical advice for treating frostbite is literally just "uh... stick it in a tub of water!!"
> 
> I'm so bad at time management I'm sorry for the late update! But I hope that The Events of this chapter make up for that ;) It only took 65,000 words, but we've finally made it to wayhaught territory.
> 
> On the topic of time management: I'm going to be taking a break for a bit. I originally planned to skip a week and return on Jan 3rd, but I might be gone longer. I'm feeling pretty burnt out and I don't want the quality of the fic to suffer. Plus, I start spring semester on the 11th. I'll be trying to build up a backlog of chapters and maybe work on some other projects I've had stored away. Updates will be posted regularly on my twitter @memedreambean.
> 
> I love all of you, and merry christmas. Joyous Kwanzaa too! And Yule. And every other holiday celebrated in the winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I have a twitter! Come see me @memedreambean for updates and General Rambling.


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